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Some products of the author’s soul-life, done in 
print and sent out into the world to stir 
the soul-life of the children of man. 

a. T &JLUM£\AJ% 



































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COPYRIGHT 
AUGUST, 1924 

BY JOSEPH PARVIN 

Printed In U. S. of A. 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


AUG 29 *24 


©C1A801571 


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CONTENTS 


Part I. 

Page 

Prefatory Note. 5 

Instead of an Introductory. 7-9 

Blondy. A Sketch from Real Life . 13-31 

The Restless Lassie. A Story in Verse 33-38 

Moral Valuation . 39-41 

Estimation of a Man's Worth. 42 

The Perspective of Truth and Virtue. 43-44 

The Hard-hearted. 45-46 

The Inhuman in the Human. 47-49 

The Purchasing Power of Money_50-51 

The Brotherhood of Man on the 

Profiteering Plan. 52-53 

The Invisible Chains. 54-56 

Fiery Steeds. 59-62 

3 













Part II. 


Page 

Do Not Submit. Verse . 65 

Fortitude . 66 

Why a Battlefield?. 67 

Men, Be Brothers! A Poem . 68 

Man Is Divine. Verse . 69 

The Human Heart. A Poem . 70-71 

Oh, the World! Free Verse . 72 

The World to Be. A Poem . 73-74 

The Troubled Poet. A Poem . 75-79 

What Is the Use of a Laughing Muse? 

... .A Poem . 80-87 

Searching for Salvation. A Poem. .. 88-90 
The Philosophy of Life. 91-98 

Part III. 

Foreword to the First Edition of 

Aphorisms and Reflections.101-106 

Aphorisms and Reflections.107-135 

Finis.136 


4 
















PREFATORY NOTE 


TN offering to the reading public this modest 
volume of what may justly be called the prod¬ 
ucts of the author’s soul-life, a few words in ref¬ 
erence to the nature, motive and purpose of this 
work may not be amiss. 

Though a book of miscellaneous subjects, 
treated in miscellaneous ways and in a variety of 
form—story, sketch, essay, and aphorism, in 
prose and in verse, there is unity throughout the 
entire volume, the keynote of which is idealism 
versus materialism. 

Having labored for years in the fields of prog¬ 
ress, mostly along educational lines, the author 
has, from time to time, given utterance, in prose 
and in verse, to his thoughts and sentiments, ideas 
and cherished ideals, both as a means of self- 
expression, as well as for the purpose of dissem¬ 
inating them among thinking and progressive 
people and those who could be made to think and 
be moved to advance, and thus do what he can to 
help slow-moving moral progress along its snail 
path. Gathering some of the products of his har¬ 
vests in the past, the author is now “Bringing in 
the Sheaves” with the offer— 

“For the spirit here’s a feast 
In group-reading animation 
And stirring recitation.” 


5 


The idea expressed in these lines from the title 
page is based on the value of spirit uplift found 
in elevating thoughts and stirring emotions, and 
on the psychology of group-reading (reading in 
company of sympathetic listeners), by means of 
which the elevating effect is greatly enhanced. 

It may be asked: Do the lines quoted above 
imply the recommendation of this modest work 
to the popularity it will get from its adaptation 
for public reading? The answer is—the author 
seeks no glory in popularity, but the opportunity 
to do good. This book goes out into the world (or 
such corner of the world as it may be lucky to 
get into) with a mission—to open the minds, enter 
the hearts, and stir the souls of those it may 
reach; and every reader who will select some of 
the contents of this volume for reading or recita¬ 
tion in family circles and other company of 
sensitive souls will thereby serve progress and 
humanity. 

THE AUTHOR. 


P. S. The third part of this book, “APHORISMS 
and Reflections/' is here in its second edition. 
The first edition was published in 1913. Most of 
the first and second parts appear for the first 
time. 


6 


Hfmsteab of an Sntrobuctorp 

Said Psychius, The Wizard:* 

ttTHAVE consecrated my life to the study of 
-*■ human psychology, seeking to understand the 
mysterious working of the human soul and try¬ 
ing to find the right way to true and lasting 
human happiness. Virtue alone brings happi¬ 
ness, has been the teaching of sages of all ages. 
Yet, we often find virtue eating a dry crust, 
soaked in the brine of its tears, while vice, waxing 
opulent, defiant and arrogant, laughs virtue in the 
face. It is true that sooner or later a day of 
reckoning comes and a settlement is made— 
Virtue gets a gold-lettered certificate with the in¬ 
scription of the old maxim, “Virtue is its own 
reward,” while vice must pay the wages of sin. 
But so deceptive are the senses, so seditious the 
heart, that for one fleeting moment of forbidden 
bodily pleasure, men will sacrifice their souls. The 
deal of Faust with Mephistofeles, on a larger or 
smaller scale, is too often being entered into. 
This comes from mistaking excitement for pleas¬ 
ure, and gratification of carnal passions for 
happiness. 

Happiness is not merely a satiation of physical 
needs, nor even the realization of one's ambition, 


7 


if it seeks selfish and materialistic aims. Happi¬ 
ness is a state of mind independent of appetite or 
material gain. It is not found in the gratification 
of the passions, but in their pacification. The 
pacification of passion, the suppression of greed 
and covetousness, a possibly perfect balance of 
the physical and the moral in human nature—all 
tend to bring about conditions requisite for a state 
of happiness. Happiness and goodness go to¬ 
gether—one is good because he is happy, one is 
happy because he is good. 

But, then again, happiness, though constituting 
a state of mind in the individual, and depending 
on the individual virtue, physical and moral 
health, is only possible as a social condition, 
created and enjoyed collectively by all. Happi¬ 
ness for all and by all must be the watchword of 
all seekers of happiness. 

As the light of the rising sun disperses the 
shadows of the night, even so will the latent force 
of psychic energy in man one day burst into mani¬ 
festation and drive the dark forces of evil before 
it. Then will the day of happiness of the chil¬ 
dren of man have arrived. 

Both evil and good spread in contagious waves. 
Men go wrong, or seek the straight path in 
droves; they fall under various spells, good or 
evil, en masse . 


8 


The coming era of happiness, therefore, can 
best be brought about by the moral regeneration 
of society by means of mass revivals . The mass 
must be reached through the individual, and the 
individual through the mass. 

To this end I have labored for more than fifty 
years. Long before the discovery of Radio, I 
had discovered and mastered PSYCHO-RADIA¬ 
TION. By purifying, concentrating, and ener¬ 
gizing my own soul-life, I am enabled to send out 
waves of psychic energy to stir spiritual impulses 
in those sensitive natures who are susceptible to 
finer influences.” 

CONCLUDING REMARK: 

In the words of the author’s own hero of 
another work, along the lines of reasoning set 
forth by him, this is the mission of this book. 

THE AUTHOR. 


* A passage from “SOCIAL REGENERATION,” a work by the 
same author, soon to be published. 

9 



Reader , before taking an indifferent 
stroll through the pages of this book , 
read this quotation in all solemnity: 

“If I have faltered more or less, 

In my great task of happiness; 

If I have moved among my race 
And shown no glorious morning face; 

If beams from happy human eyes 
Have moved me not; if morning skies, 
Books, and my food, and summer rain, 
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain,— 
Lord, Thy most pointed pleasure take, 

And stab my spirit broad awake !” 

—Robert Louis Stevenson. 


BRINGING IN THE SHEAVES 


PART ONE 
























Silonbp 

A Sketch From Real Life 

T T IS June—the season when life is astir in a 
“■* myriad ways; when the sap in the plant and 
the red blood in the veins are coursing under high 
pressure of creative energy, bringing forth blos¬ 
som and fruit, health and vigor amid the sun¬ 
shine of love and the music of joy. 

How fortunate are those children of creation, 
who feel the thrill of the reviving touch of 
Nature's hand, and who, in obedience to her call, 
respond with vigorous activity, receiving their 
reward in the full enjoyment of life, according to 
the inherent capacity and power of self-expres¬ 
sion of each! 

But, alas! there are those whose misfortune it 
is to fall victims to latent destructive forces that 
obstruct Nature's creative work and undermine 
life's very process in every form. There, for in¬ 
stance, is the pest-stricken plant with its drooping 
head; there is the withered flower, whose sickly 
roots fail to bring the nourishing sap to its stem 
and petals; there is the dry skeleton of a lifeless 
tree, with its branches bare and leafless, present- 


13 


ing an ugly appearance amid the gladsome sights 
of spring and summer. 

And there is the saddest of instances where the 
harmony of Nature is harshly disturbed by dis¬ 
cord ; when physiology is reversed into pathology, 
elimination is obstructed and alimentation retard¬ 
ed, with the result that the joy-giving process of 
life is turned into a source of pain and a burden 
of suffering. 

The most painful sight is the tragic figure of a 
human being broken in health and in spirit. It 
is a source of humiliation to proud man—the 
crown of creation—to view a human scrap-heap. 

It is midnight—a June night. On an iron cot, 
in a poorly furnished bedroom of a tenement 
house, in that part of Brooklyn known as Browns¬ 
ville, a young girl lies awake. Her wan face 
looks touchingly pathetic in the dim light of the 
partly turned off gas jet. Twice a victim of in¬ 
fluenza and pneumonia that kept her for many 
long and dreary weeks in the hospital and left her 
a sufferer from a complication of after-effects, 
the poor girl (whom we will, for convenience sake, 
call “Blondy”), in the bloom of her youth, is in 
the pitiable condition of an invalid—weak, an¬ 
aemic, and nervous, with the light of hope slowly 
going out from her afflicted soul. 

It is midnight. Like a flock of black crows, 


14 


dark thoughts are pecking at poor Blondy’s sick, 
palpitating heart, driving sleep from her weary 
eyes. Because of repeated attacks of ravishing 
disease and consequent continued ill health, aggra¬ 
vated by poor home conditions, the entire high 
school course had been to her one of struggle and 
hardships. Having been kept from school for 
almost whole terms at a stretch, she had to work 
twice as hard to make up for lost time, and the 
extra exertion and strain still further depleted 
her already impoverished system. For three years 
her physical economy had been run at a deficit, 
the outgo being in excess of the income, the wear- 
and-tear of cell and tissue (especially nerve tis¬ 
sue) greater than the repair. But this unfortun¬ 
ate state didn’t, in the least, affect her ambition 
regarding a high school course, with that of col¬ 
lege to follow. She had the brains to graduate a 
year ahead of the usual time; instead, her gradua¬ 
tion was a year and a half delayed. This was, of 
course, a bitter pill for her to swallow, a stab in 
the pride of Blondy, conscious as she was of her 
ability to do better. It was also a setback in a 
material sense, inasmuch as it prolonged her de¬ 
pendence on her poor parents. At first this step¬ 
child of Fate bitterly complained and frequently 
cried over her hard lot. Ill-housed, ill-clad, ill- 
nourished, with but thin, poor blood sluggishly 
coursing in her veins, she grumblingly plodded 


15 


along the path which she had hoped would be 
strewn with roses, but which was hedged in by 
thorns instead. But mind and spirit, when pres¬ 
ent in sufficient strength, are independent of the 
ills of flesh, and youth will dream rosy dreams 
amid the graves of its dead hopes. As time wore 
on, Blondy (who is a real living being of flesh and 
blood, and not an imaginary heroine of fiction) 
became reconciled to her trying situation and de¬ 
voted herself to her studies, utterly ignoring 
physical pain and conditions due to the penury of 
her home life. She stood the hardships of long¬ 
distance travel to and from school in all sorts of 
weather, changing and waiting for cars, and often 
coming home chilled to the bones; she did her 
home-work while tormented by a hacking cough; 
she wrote prize essays when consumed by fever; 
and had occasional snatches of poetic inspiration, 
writing free verse and little tales a la Lord Dun- 
sany. 

Thus, in spite of lost whole terms and belated 
promotion, Blondy won a place of honor on the 
school records, and her classmates came to look 
up to her as “freshies” look on a proud “senior.” 
She concentrated her efforts on her favorite 
studies—English Literature, Latin and French, 
especially English; and at last, with the new term 
at the beginning of 1920, she was promoted to the 
graduating class. With graduation in sight, the 


16 


struggling girl-student’s spirit rose within her; 
the small, flickering flame of hope flared up anew 
in her hard-tried soul, casting a bright light on 
her future; and her rich imagination brought her 
train-loads of building material for her air-cas¬ 
tles. Blondy realized, though, that air-castles, 
unlike “castles in the air,” must rest on a solid 
foundation of concrete accomplishment, however 
ethereal the superstructure may be; so she 
doubled her zeal in the work of laying that 
foundation—the completion of her high school 
course. But, alas! doubling her zeal at this state 
of her broken health was equivalent to cutting 
into half the scanty remnant of her strength. 

It was February, 1920. Poor Blondy had con¬ 
tracted a bad cold on top of another protracted 
cold that lay chronically in her bronchial tubes, 
and she was confined to bed. There was nothing 
unusual about it. To be sick became a habit with 
Blondy; so too was her habit of neglect; that’s 
how she acquired a two-story cold. Hacking 
cough, stitching pain in the side, and a tempera¬ 
ture above the normal were, at this time, exceed¬ 
ingly annoying; but there was a prize essay to be 
written, and a gold medal as the first prize, and 
she, Blondy the oldest “senior” in the graduation 
class. How could she ever walk through the Halls 
of Erasmus without that mark of merit on her 
breast? This thought was firmly fixed in her 


17 


mind, waiting for a chance to be acted upon. 

The last day for turning in her literary effort 
was almost upon her, and our ambitious aspirant 
to the first prize hadn’t even hit upon a theme for 
her essay, because of that confounded cold, which, 
instead of letting up, as she had expected, was 
becoming aggravating. Blondy felt that if she 
waited another day, her chances for writing such 
a composition, as she knew she could, would be 
gone. This being the first important literary con¬ 
test of the graduation class, which, after long and 
painful delay, she had just entered, how could 
she drop out of it? Yet it looked, or rather felt, 
as though she would have to. As the day wore 
on, her condition was getting worse. Partly be¬ 
cause she was an unmanageable patient when sick 
at home, stubbornly refusing to submit to treat¬ 
ment, and partly because sickness with her be¬ 
came a state of mind, such medicine as she did 
consent to take did her no good. Towards even¬ 
ing her temperature rose perceptibly, her pulse 
was running a race with her heart. There she lay 
helpless, inert, consumed by fever. But one 
thought was ever present with her—she must 
write; tomorrow is the last day for entering the 
contest. 

The hands on the face of the ticking clock on 
the old bureau were slowly moving past the mid¬ 
night hour. Blondy opened her eyes; a strange 


18 


feeling permeated her whole being; the fever had 
left her; her mind was clear, and strangely alert; 
waves of thoughts, in picture form and pictur¬ 
esque, were gently breaking over her; there was 
her essay—theme, subject, title, et al. And it all 
seemed so familiar. Did she dream of it? She 
felt moved by a power within (or a power from 
without—whichever it was, let psychology de¬ 
cide) , a power that defies physical pain, overrides 
material conditions, sweeps away walls of ob¬ 
struction, and overflows space and time—the 
power of inspiration. Lightly she half lifted her¬ 
self out of bed, hastily stretched out two tremu¬ 
lous arms, pulled out a little side-top drawer of 
the small, old bureau at the opposite wall, and got 
her binder with loose-leaf paper and the fountain 
pen, which her little brother had bought for her 
as a birthday gift on the money he earned during 
the Christmas vacation. Too weak to sit up un¬ 
supported, she propped herself up with pillows, 
and with a flourish wrote the ready title: “A 
Dream on the Sea.” 

The night wore on; the whole house was wrap¬ 
ped in sleep; Blondy alone was awake and astir 
in mind and in spirit. With her thin face aglow 
with an inward light, with her chestnut hair 
loosely falling over her shoulders, she was rapidly 
moving her pen, to and fro, across the paper with¬ 
out halt. Like a continuous stream, lines were 


19 


flowing from under her pen-point; colorful word- 
pictures spread over page after page. Pictur¬ 
esque scenes, now grandiose and terrible, now 
beautiful and fascinating, followed each other in 
kaleidoscopic variation before the inspired 
writer. She was no more the girl confined to the 
sick-bed, worrying over the possible loss of her 
chances in the first contest of the last term. She 
was abroad, carried on by an irresistible power 
into a vortex of vigorous activities in a far-off 
land, in a far-away future, witnessing the mar¬ 
velous accumulative results of centuries of human 
development—the appearance of an ideal type of 
men and women, who have conquered disease and 
banished poverty from the earth. 

Thus through the late hours of the night, 
Blondy was sailing on the wings of imagination. 
For hours her mind reigned supreme, exercising 
full control over the body, banishing all pain. For 
a few brief hours, Psyche was mistress, and 
Physicus the menial servant. These hours were 
to Blondy full of unmarred pleasure of the purest 
kind. All thought of prize and honor had vanish¬ 
ed. The mere experience of the gentle touch of 
the magic wand of Psyche—the spell of inspira¬ 
tion, was happiness itself. Ah, if only it would 
last! 

But Physicus, the proletariat, having become 
class-conscious of being exploited, revolted, and 


20 


the word “Finis” on the last page brought Blondy 
back to her narrow bedroom. Her face was aglow 
with the light of exultation, as though she had 
just returned from an adventurous journey 
which she greatly enjoyed. Putting the cap of 
the fountain pen over the pen-point, and closing 
the binder, she dropped her head on the pillows, 
and in a half-sitting, half-lying position, surren¬ 
dered herself to Morpheus, the arbiter in the 
strike proletariat Physicus had declared. 

Two weeks later, while in the throes of pneu¬ 
monia in one of the hospitals of Brooklyn, news 
reached Blondy that her essay was awarded the 
second prize—a silver medal. But Blondy wasn't 
interested in second prizes. “It is all because of 
these confounded ills flesh is heir to—it is they 
that spoil my best work,” she said complainingly 
to her father by her bedside. “The body is no 
good; I wish I were all spirit.” 

“Not so, my child,” said the father to her; “a 
healthy mind in control of a healthy body, is the 
normal state Nature intended to maintain.” 

Weeks in the hospital, and many more weeks 
confined to bed at home, with two relapses in close 
succession, and hemorrhages, caused by a rupture 
of blood-vessels in the throat, resulting from the 
strain of continuous violent coughing—all these 
afflictions, break-downs and outbreaks, had left 


21 


poor Blondy in the pitiable condition of an in¬ 
valid—her last ounce of strength exhausted, the 
few red blood corpuscles in her anaemic circula¬ 
tion devoured by disease germs, her nerves shat¬ 
tered to the point of painful irritation, and the 
dimly flickering light of hope going out from her 
troubled soul. 

It is after midnight in July—the sweltering 
season in the crowded city, where every building 
is a furnace, every flagstone a heater, and every¬ 
body is stewed in his own sweat, amid clouds of 
ill-smelling fumes that rise to heaven as incense 
to the gods of crowded-city-civilization. On her 
iron cot, wakeful as usual at nights, Blondy is 
tossing. And as she lies there, peering into the 
gloom, scenes of the last graduation day in her 
high school—scenes to witness which, to be one 
of the participators in which, was denied her— 
appear before her in their full brilliance, as she 
knew them to be, as she read of them in the 
papers. There is the familiar auditorium packed 
with people, the happy graduates, the heroes and 
heroines of the day, in the front rows. The pro¬ 
gram begins with a recital on the organ, famous 
in the high school world, the deep-toned sounds 
swelling and floating through space, creating an 
atmosphere of solemnity. This solemnity, in turn, 
is followed up by an attempt at official dignity in 
the starched-and-ironed patriotic speeches made 


22 


by the guest of honor, who was invited to pre¬ 
side, and by other important personages. Then 
comes the address by the principal, listened to by 
the entire audience with respect, and followed 
by a brilliant program, consisting of musical num¬ 
bers, playlets, orations, and the oratorical valedic¬ 
tory. The entire student audience is in a state of 
boisterous happiness, lustily applauding all and 
everything. This applause increases in vigor and 
volume, when the two most important features of 
graduation day are reached—the awarding of 
prizes and the distribution of diplomas. Here are 
the girls of the exclusive literary club, of which 
she, Blondy, was a member, and which was under 
the direct leadership of their most beloved teacher, 
Miss M., whose book of poems she has as a pres¬ 
ent direct from the author. The club has cap¬ 
tured some prizes, all girls have taken diplomas, 
all have been presented with flowers by their par¬ 
ents and friends. How their faces are beaming 
with happiness as they gather around their 
teacher and leader, embracing and congratulating 
each other! Miss M., in joyous excitement, thrusts 
her pug nose high in the air, in her pride over the 
fine showing of her pet club. Blondy sees herself 
in a distant, isolated corner, watching the happy 
scene. She, too, is proud of her club and glad for 
the girls; but somehow she feels stung, her heart 
contracting with pain—are they so selfishly happy 


23 


as to have forgotten her completely? Presently 
she hears one in the group say: “Poor Blondy! 
What a pity she isn't here today!" “Yes, she 
would surely have carried off a prize, and thus 
added honor to our club," remarks Miss M. with 
a toss of her head. 

The vision of the scenes of graduation day dis¬ 
appeared, leaving Blondy more depressed than 
before, alone in the gloom and oppressive air of 
the sultry night. Like a flock of black crows, 
dark thoughts flopped down on her, pecking at her 
aching heart. Three times she was nearing the 
happy goal of her ambition—graduation day, and 
every time the cruel hand of fate, or more 
properly, the hand of cruel circumstance, rudely 
held her back. Struggling with sickness, she had 
lost whole terms of the school curriculum, but 
each time she won back her place of honor, and, 
at last, she stood inside the sacred portals of the 
graduating class. One short term of but a few 
months separated her from the happy day, when, 
by some miracle, the gates of the Barnard college 
campus would be opened to her. But this dearly 
cherished hope was not allowed to blossom into 
flower; it w*as nipped in the bud by the frost of 
adversity. She was once more overcome by in¬ 
visible foes that waylaid her on the road to suc¬ 
cess and barred her further progress. What evil 
spirit is thus cruelly persecuting her—a poor, 


24 


helpless girl? Was it the accident of her having 
been caught by the influenza epidemic three years 
ago that determined her lot? Was it the pneumo¬ 
coccus germ, as the doctors learnedly love to call 
it, that ruined her last chances for reaping the 
final results of her labors and struggles? No, no! 
Dangerous enemies to health and life they surely 
both are—the flu and pneumonia; but Mother 
Nature stood by her, as she, the weak girl, fought 
them, each separately and both together, and con¬ 
quered them. What then was it that for three 
years was eating at her vitals, paralyzing her en¬ 
ergies, and destroying the results of her untiring 
efforts? Fate? But what is fate but another name 
for circumstances? Who is, or what is, responsi¬ 
ble for these cruel circumstances? Why was she 
deprived of the enjoyment of health and the joy 
of youth that should, by the very order of Nature, 
be hers ? Why should her path through the entire 
high school course have been so thickly strewn 
with thorns ? Urged along by noble aspiration for 
a higher career, why should she have been allowed 
to fall by the road-side exhausted, without having 
accomplished that which alone made life worth 
while for her? Wherein lies the cause of all her 
trials and tribulation? Now she sees it quite plain 
—plainer than she ever saw before—there are 
two who are responsible for all of her troubles: 
One is that old witch—Poverty; and the other is 


25 


no one else but her father, her own father! It 
is he who, against her repeated protests, harbored 
that mean, ugly witch in the house. Yes, in the 
last analysis, the whole responsibility rests on 
father. A man who has children to care for and 
to make happy, has no business to keep company 
with Poverty, not even for the sake of Muse. 

Ah, if only she could go to the Berkshire hills 
for recuperation, breathe the pure air of the hill¬ 
tops, and feast her eyes on the green verdure and 
the flora in full summer bloom! If only she could 
escape, for a while, at least, the nerve-racking 
noises and the shockingly ugly sights of the city, 
and find rest in the tender lap of Nature! How 
pleasant it would be to wander in the woods, gath¬ 
ering wild flowers, listening to the songs of the 
happy birds, or loll in a hammock and doze under 
the drowsy buzz of the bees! How dull and ef¬ 
fectless this dust- and smoke-covered old metal 
ceiling—the city sky! How exhilarating ’twould 
be to gaze into the blue dome of the real heavens 
that spread over hill and dale! How soul-sooth¬ 
ing it must be to dream in the soft rays of the 
silvery moon, or listen to the whisper of the 
twinkling stars, while breathing the balmy air, 
and feel the quieting restful effect of the undis¬ 
turbed silence of the night! 

But, alas! it was given to her to wish and to 
yearn only, while gratification and fulfillment 


26 


were denied her. And so here poor Blondy, step¬ 
child of Nature, victim of adverse circumstances, 
is tossing in the oppressive gloom and stifling at¬ 
mosphere, gasping for a breath of air. Looking 
through the darkness, she discerns the deformed, 
gaunt form of the ugly old witch—Poverty, who, 
staring at her with copper eyes, steals nearer and 
nearer to her bed-side, and with claw-like bony 
fingers seeks to clutch at her throat. . . . 

Help! Help! Help! 

“Fear not, child! I am here,” some one called 
out. The clear melodious voice that carried these 
words of friendly assurance through the darkness 
of the room was vibrant with tender sympathy, 
and had a magic, restorative effect on Blondy. 
She sat up with a feeling of instantaneous relief; 
the ugly old witch disappeared. Looking up 
towards the door from where the friendly voice 
came, Blondy beheld a shining halo around a fine, 
lovely head, like that of a goddess, with a face of 
perfect beauty, from which two bright eyes shone. 
Like an apparition, the haloed head and face ex¬ 
tended into a bust, a hand appeared holding a 
light, revealing a graceful figure draped in a 
white silk robe. 

“I am Haloed Hope—the hope of the soul; I 
come to light your life's path, to dispel the mist 
and clear the oppressive atmosphere surrounding 
you, so that you may avoid the stumbling blocks 


27 


and obstructions scattered on the road to happi¬ 
ness.” 

So speaking in her silvery, pleasant voice, 
Haloed Hope came forward, flooding the room 
with light; she stopped at the bedside and looked 
into the face of Blondy with the affection of a 
true friend. It felt good to have near, instead of 
a horrid witch, a new-found friend in the person 
of a real beautiful goddess, and Blondy answered 
the affectionate look with a grateful smile. 

Presently, just as she was about to say some¬ 
thing to her new friend, she became aware of the 
presence in the room of some one else besides the 
Goddess of Hope; she turned her head and was 
astonished to see a tall, masculine, robust form, 
with a massive head set on broad shoulders, a 
noble, bright-looking face, to which a flowing gray 
beard gave a venerable expression; sparkling, 
penetrating eyes looked out from under heavy 
brows, gray curly locks were hanging down from 
his head, a light flowing cloak completed his sage¬ 
like appearance. 

“I am Father Wisdom,” introduced himself the 
sage, speaking in a fine baritone voice, as he 
gracefully moved towards the front part of the 
room and seated himself in a large carved arm¬ 
chair that stood on a platform. 

“I and my friend here, Haloed Hope, heard 
your call for help, saw your distress, and we 


28 


came to help you to help yourself,” continued 
Father Wisdom in his authoritative, yet very 
friendly and pleasant tone, addressing himself to 
Blondy. 

“Now, my daughter, to be able to help yourself 
you must first understand both the nature and 
the cause of the trouble you are troubled with, 
for most of people’s trials and vexations are of 
their own thoughtless creation. It may not seem 
so to you, but that horrid witch who frightened 
you so was a creature of your imagination. She 
was real in her evil effects on your peace of mind 
and on your health, but her birth-place was your 
imagination. You have been brooding over a con¬ 
dition which you could have overcome by a wise 
combination of thought and action. You should 
always remember that you are what you think 
you are. Think health, and health will be yours— 
health of body and mind; think contentment, and 
it will abide with you. Contentment does not 
mean self-satisfaction. Be content today, and up 
and doing tomorrow. Don’t think yourself poor 
because you are wanting things—go after them. 
Don’t think yourself sick because something hap¬ 
pens to hurt you—find out what and where is the 
cause of the trouble and have that cause removed 
by order of your will-power. Mother Nature will 
do the rest, will do her best to restore the balance 
in your physical economy. Of course, the wisest 


29 


thing to do is to prevent trouble, whether inside 
your constitution or outside. Here is a jar with 
grains of my own cultivation —grains of wisdom 
they are called. Take two of these grains on ris¬ 
ing every morning, one grain with every meal, 
and two or three on retiring at night; take also 
some on exceptional occasions. If you follow this 
up with strict regularity, your health in full 
bloom will soon be restored to you, and you will 
gain much in power of mind and in exultation of 
soul and spirit. 

“These grains of wisdom possess the wonderful 
property of self-multiplication; for every grain 
you will use, there will appear ten more in its 
place. This magic jar is unbreakable and the 
grains therein are inexhaustible; they will last 
you a life-time and you can share them with 
others who may be in need of them. 

“Farewell, my daughter!” said Father Wisdom, 
as he rose to go. “Whenever you want my per¬ 
sonal service, you only have to turn your thought 
into a wish, and I will come to your aid. My 
friend, Haloed Hope, will always be near you.” 

Happy voices of children going to school were 
heard in the street. Blondy opened her eyes, the 
sun shone brightly into the room. What a won¬ 
derful dream, and how realistic! She still seemed 
to see the beautiful goddess by her side, smiling 
at her. She looked towards the place where but 


30 


a moment ago the sage was sitting; she still seem¬ 
ed to see him as he appeared; she heard his very 
voice and remembered clearly every word he said. 
She looked into her hands as though feeling the 
jar with the grains of wisdom. She felt refresh¬ 
ed and light-hearted. “I will not only psycho¬ 
analyze, I will realize this dream,” she said to her¬ 
self with determination, as she lightly skipped 
out of bed. “Grains of wisdom, indeed; I know 
where to get them,” she continued, reaching out 
for a volume on her shelf of books, “and there is 
the great library, and there is the college. . . . 
Blondy! you are not sick, you are not poor, you 
have just been a little foolish! Now, get your two 
grains on rising and one grain with your break¬ 
fast,” she chuckled. 


31 






®fje Eesitless lassie 


O poor little lassie! 

0 restless child! 
She couldn’t resist 
An impulse wild. 


Too much was for her 
Life’s daily hard grind; 

Irksome the drudgery 
Oppressing her mind. 

And there was the lure 
Of the gay white way, 

Where joy runs riot, 

And laughter holds sway. 

So into the sweeping whirl, 

In the glare of dazzling lights, 

Hungry-hearted lassie rushed 
In quest of thrilling delights. 

Oh, the charm and enchantment! 

And the sense-benumbing spell 

At the fount of sparkling glee, 

’Round which joy-crowds nightly swell. 


33 


Ah, how blithely 'round and 'round 
Jazzed the nimble, dancing, little feet! 

And what good-times otherwise. . . . 

Ah, never was life so sweet! 

The erstwhile hard daily grind, 

That crushingly so oppressed, 

Was changed into revelry— 

Little girlie was jazz-obsessed. 

The protecting roof of home, 

The quiet place of work and rest, 

She thought to be but a hindrance 
To a flapper's life of jest. 

Overcome by a restless urge, 

Resistlessly she was borne on, 

Past the guarding gates of prudence, 
Along the high-way, on and on. 

And of course, of course, of course, 
There were Jays—huh, how many! 

Good or bad, it mattered not, 

She could be game with any. 

And of course, of course, sure enough. 
There always was one Aleck gay 

Who for a jolly jazz good-time 

Would nightly lead the giddy way. 


34 


So girlie had her fill of thrills, 
Jazzing through the fleeting time, 

Happy in her blind conviction— 
There was nothing more sublime. 

Nothing more so deeply stirring 
Than the blare of a saxophone, 

When all one’s nerves go a-jigging, 
Rollicking with crazy fun. 

But, alas! on short notice, 

Of a sudden came the day 

When a bill in pain and tears 
She was called upon to pay. 

For the Jazz-Piper has a way 

Of extortion in blood and grief— 

So poor lassie on the sick-bed 
Was tossing, moaning for relief. 

Came doctors and disagreed, 

As doctors always will, 

On concoctions of the drug-shop 
They fed her to the fill. 

Doctor A. thought, he was quite sure 
’Twas rheumatism of the heart. 

Doctor B. knew quite as well 
’Twas neurasthenia in part. 


35 


And a famous specialist, 

Of undoubted authority, 

Declared it a complication 
That may end in T. B. 

But despite wise Medicus, 

In spite of powder and pill, 

Mother Nature stood by lassie, 

Put to naught the doctors’ skill. 

Having punished the offender, 

She granted her another chance; 

Warning her against transgression, 
Held out reward in advance: 

If the maiden in the future 
Will but obey the laws wise 

Of exacting Mother Nature, 

And be good otherwise. 

If the rule of moderation 
She’d follow in things all, 

To Wisdom’s voice she’d hearken, 
And be guided by her call. 

She would be the possessor 
Of the greatest of all wealth— 

Hers would be the precious treasure 
Of true happiness and health. 


36 


But Wisdom’s call to Folly 
Has been ever made in vain; 

Her lesson Folly will not learn 
Even in the school of pain. 

The impatient convalescent, 

Discarding soon the couch of rest, 

Care-free and with self-abandon, 

Went spinning on the white-way crest. 

Though as the lilly pure, we know 
Her maiden virtue to be, 

But recklessly thus to squander 
A life is a crime per se. 

If thus abused, overtaxed 
Is her palpitating heart, 

How can it honestly 
Do its most vital part? 

Ever under high pressure, 

’Tis bound to complain, 

To murmur a warning 
In stitches of sharp pain. 

Oh, thoughtless, reckless, foolish child! 
Do heed the danger sign! 

Go take a rest in your snug old nest, 
Dear little birdie of mine. 


37 


Life is priceless, life is sacred, 

It must not wasted be in vain; 
In its proper use and care, 
Higher purpose must obtain. 


38 


Jffloral Valuation in economic 
Application 

A T this late day there is hardly any need of 
***■ bringing in the authority of Herbert 
Spencer in proof of the theory that society is an 
organic body of which every individium is an in¬ 
tegral part. The interrelation of individual mem¬ 
bers of society one with another and with the 
community at large is so obvious; the interde¬ 
pendence of all classes is so forcibly brought 
home to every one of us in our daily life, that we 
need no argument in proof of the fact. The great¬ 
est service rendered to the community by the 
press is that it brings men, far apart by space, by 
occupation, by station and condition, closer to 
each other in sentiment and in spirit. Through 
the medium of the press, which is the modern 
world's organ of expression, men are kept in 
touch with each other, share each other’s grief 
and joy, express their disapproval or approval of 
private acts, as the case may be. 

Man is a social being, and the social instinct in 
him is as strong as the individual instinct of self- 
preservation is. He is both egoist and altruist. 
What he does for himself, for his own welfare, 
and for those dependent on him, reverts to the 


39 


common good of society; what he does, under the 
impulse of altruism, for others, or for the public 
at large, accrues to his own benefit, adds to his 
own happiness. 

Man is a thinking being, endowed with the fac¬ 
ulty of reason, possessed of a creative mind; but 
he is also, and more so, and first of all, an emo¬ 
tional being. Reason was Man's guiding light on 
the ascending line of evolution; but emotion was 
his motive power by which he propelled himself 
upwards, from stage to stage, from age to age. 
Without the light of reason he could not see his 
way ahead; but without motive-power—emotion, 
spirit—he could not move from his lowly primi¬ 
tive state, though the glare of his headlight be 
ever so strong. Psycho and Physicus, Heart and 
Brain, Soul and Spirit—they are the ones who 
composed the corporation that built new civiliza¬ 
tions and salvaged the broken down old ones. 
And they are on the job yet; still at the helm of 
the ship of Destiny. To put any one of these 
Directors of man's fate out of business would be 
a dangerous business. Luckily, this cannot be 
done; at least not effectively, not permanently. 

Man, then, is a composite being, capable of com¬ 
plex action, in which all human attributes par¬ 
ticipate. The head produces better results when 
under the influence of the heart; the heart throbs 
safer under the protection of the head. Life with 


40 


reason alone is like living in the Arctic regions; 
life with emotion alone is like living on the equa¬ 
tor; with both equalized and tempered, we have 
the animated, energized life of the temperate 
zone. It is here that man, still in the making, 
is hard at work at his allotted double task of self¬ 
making and making the globe a fit place to dwell 
on. It is here that progress is made in leaps 
and bounds, and decades outrun centuries in 
achievements. And it is right here, in this age of 
machine civilization and high industrial develop¬ 
ment, that we must guard against the over-esti¬ 
mation of the material and under-estimation of 
the ideal elements in life. We need more heart in 
our dealings with each other. The fact that one 
is employer and others are employees is the more 
reason for a better understanding and mutual 
respect, and that is better achieved with the help 
of friendly emotion than by cold calculation. He 
who would keep emotion out from industrial rela¬ 
tions would turn society into a jungle. Nay, not 
so, brother! The presence of free-soul expres¬ 
sion is as much needed, if not more, in the mar¬ 
ket lane and in the shop, as it is in the church and 
the synagogue. 

Moral valuation in economic application will 
humanize our not too perfect civilization. Any 
move in this direction deserves closer inspection. 


41 


estimation of a Jfflan’s ®<Kortf) 

I T is not figures, nor facts, nor even much- 
lauded acts, that should count in estimating 
true human worth. For “things are not as they 
seem” on the world's stage, and “not all that glit¬ 
ters is gold.” Figures have been known to lie, 
and facts, too often, have a hidden meaning, en¬ 
tirely different from the interpretation given 
them publicly; and even acts that are in them¬ 
selves good, often emanate from impure sources. 

What is the inner man? should be the para¬ 
mount question. What sterling qualities of char¬ 
acter does he possess? How large is his soul? 
How broad his mind? How far-reaching his 
sympathies? What are his ideas of social jus¬ 
tice, of righteousness, of duty, and in what way 
does he translate his ideas and convictions into 
private conduct and public acts ? 

In a word, What is the real man in his inner 
make-up? must be the first question, and How 
does he reveal himself through public acts? the 
second. The latter point can serve only as an 
illustration, but not as a basis, in the estimation 
of the former. 


42 


®j)c -Perspecttoe of ®rutf) anb Virtue 

'T^RUTH stretched and varnished becomes a lie 
-*■ garnished. 

Virtue mixed with sanctimonious spice turns 
into masked vice. 

So, too, with morals and ethics, taken by the 
letter of convention, too often result in their 
abnegation in spirit, and what is moral in appear¬ 
ance becomes the very opposite in fact. 

Religion weighed down by creeds, unjustified by 
deeds, and carried beyond the realm of reason, is 
fanaticism out of season. 

Thus in the search of the ideal in the real, in the 
effort to ascertain what is what and which is 
which, there is always the “over” and the “under” 
that mislead. 

The golden medium is a good rule to go by, but 
even this is more than often stretched. The 
“practical” man who prides himself on his “mid¬ 
dle of the road” wisdom, somehow, most of the 
time, proves to be a man without backbone, 
neither flesh nor fish; he is the man of ready com¬ 
promise, who goes into partnership with Evil on 
the profit-sharing plan, along the line of least 
resistance. 

To find the perspective of Truth and Virtue, 


43 


the exact point at which Good is good and beyond 
which Evil begins, is a serious task every one must 
undertake for himself and proceed with cautious 
care. 


44 


)£ ?|arb=2|earteb 

A S the born blind has never beheld the splendor 
of sunrise, never gazed at the clear blue 
sky on a bright summer day, nor ever had a 
glimpse of the moon in a cloudless night majes¬ 
tically sailing in the azure blue amidst the hosts 
of twinkling stars; has never enjoyed the sight of 
green meadows, distant hills and running streams, 
nor feasted his eyes on the rich beauty of blossom 
and flower— 

As the deaf-mute has never been thrilled by the 
song of the nightingale, or the sweet, melodious 
and soulful notes of a gifted human singer, nor 
was his soul ever enraptured by a musical rhap¬ 
sody, the high moral pleasure that comes through 
the medium of sound being denied him— 

Even so have the hard-hearted never known the 
glow of human affection or the soothing warmth 
of sympathy for a fellow-man; nor have they ever 
experienced the joy born of an act of true charity, 
or occasioned by a deed of generosity. 

The born blind is usually compensated by a 
keener sense of hearing and a more acute sense of 
touch because of greater concentration of the 
mind on the use of these senses and more frequent 
practice therewith. The reverse is the case of the 


45 


hard-hearted. Not only are they not compen¬ 
sated by increased sentiment in other directions— 
a thing impossible by the very nature of senti¬ 
ment—but the absence of humane feeling is gen¬ 
erally marked by other hard traits of character. 
As a cancerous growth, spreading out its roots, 
affects the surrounding tissues, corrupts the blood, 
and finally chokes the life out of the unfortunate 
victim, so the atrophy of the heart affects the 
very centre of human sentiment, hardening the 
brain and nerve tissues, and destroying the entire 
soul-life of the poor creature. 

Pity the hard-hearted even more than you 
would the deformed in body. 


46 


®be Snljumati in tfje Human 

'T'^OO ready to blame, to soil a good name, to 
add of bitterness a drop to someone's 
cup which already is with trouble filled to the 
brim—this with most people is a sporting whim. 
Compromising information that tarnishes a repu¬ 
tation spreads like wild-fire; while due praise, 
which might raise one's estimate in the public eye, 
is in silence passed by, left in a sluggish state. It 
is seldom flashed by wire. 

It is mighty hard to climb up a mountain high 
and steep, but it is very easy to slide down a preci¬ 
pice deep. It is exceedingly difficult for one of 
any cult, by merit alone—no matter how one may 
be prone to hold fast, to the very last, to virtue's 
rule and regulation—to build up a reputation that 
will endure; but the imputation and slur, and that 
very strong, that one went wrong, can be heard 
on every side. It is heralded far and wide. 

It seems, for some people, to be easier to exag¬ 
gerate a neighbor's faults a hundred fold and 
under-rate his merits in the same proportion, than 
to give him due credit for his merits and make 
allowance for his shortcomings. 

The news of a man's mistakes, missteps, and 


47 


breakdowns travels over the hot wire of gossip 
with telegraphic swiftness. Mrs. Grundy chuckles, 
and a million tongues are set awagging; the sins 
of commission and the errors of omission of the 
man under the ban become first the topic of 
rumor, then the theme of humor, and lastly, the 
subject of cruel tongue-dissection, long before the 
victim is aware what he is being discredited with. 

Such is the inhuman part in human nature. 

There lies a serpent coiled up in the farthest 
corner of the heart of the average man, and of 
most of the women, and whenever some neighbor 
is well-mentioned, some man or woman is being 
credited with some exceptionally high moral 
status, noble trait of character, talent, beauty (in 
the case of woman), or some praiseworthy deeds 
—at once the serpent stirs, uncoils, inserts its 
fangs in the most touchy spot, and immediately 
the poison of green jealousy affects the senses of 
vision, of hearing, and of judgment—what is 
white in the neighbor’s character becomes black; 
what is a tiny black dot spreads out into a still 
blacker mass; the silver is mere tin, the gold is 
only common brass, and the harmony is harsh 
discord. 

Whatever good is said of the neighbor, is taken 
by these people, with the serpent in their hearts, 
as a personal insult to themselves, and whatever 
48 


can be construed as a breach of rules laid down 
in convention's Blue Book, calls out their “right¬ 
eous” indignation. 

Shafts of ire, buckets of mud and mire, are ma¬ 
liciously hurled at the good name of a brother- 
man, or a sister-woman, for no other reason but 
that he or she happens to be one above the ordi¬ 
nary run. 

Such is the inhuman part in human nature. 


We hate people for their good qualities which 
are lacking in ourselves, and which we are too 
lazy to cultivate. 


The burglar who breaks into a house in the 
night is a lesser criminal than the slanderer. 


Let malicious tongues wag in fury, go your hon¬ 
est way, don't worry. They can not defame a 
clean, good name. 


49 





Purchasing Potoer of jffflonep 

lV/T ONEY, money, money. With money you 
-*•*-■* buy everything, for money you sell every¬ 
thing. With money you buy respect, considera¬ 
tion and courtesy wherever you go; people squeeze 
your hand with a warm and loud “glad to see 
you,” when they hear the jingle of gold in your 
pocket. The attention you receive in public is in 
direct proportion to the size of your bank-book. 
With money you buy a pony for your daughter 
when she is a cherub of seven, and a puny “noble¬ 
man,” imported from Europe, for a husband, after 
she has passed the age of sweet seventeen. With 
money you buy the applause of the world and 
make numerous friends. With money you buy a 
seat in the Senate for yourself or for “your man.” 
You buy an election to high office; procure enact¬ 
ments of laws favorable to your business, or pur¬ 
chase immunity from the enforcement of laws 
unfavorable to your ways of conducting your 
“commercial affairs.” Black or white, you will 
always come out right, if only you have money to 
buy the best legal whitewash there is on the mar¬ 
ket. If you happen to look rather dingy in the 
eyes of the law, some willing lawyer, some oblig¬ 
ing juryman, and even some judge on the bench— 


50 


thank Heaven, not all judges, though—will help 
you to get a triple coat of as fine a varnish of 
respectability as is consistent with the dignity of 
your “standing in the financial world.” 

In a word, there seems to be no limit to the 
purchasing power of money. 


It must, however, be admitted that the evil 
charged to money is not always in the purse; most 
often it resides in the hearts of men. 


The good man with a clean heart and noble soul, 
with higher aim and goal, and service of mankind 
as his ideal, turns the power of wealth and posi¬ 
tion into a power for good. 


51 




®()e Protfjerifjoob of Jflatt 
<&n tfjc ^Profiteering $lan 

ff/^OME, brother,” says Mr. Man to his neigh- 
bor, “let us walk the path of life together. 
I shall keep my purse tight, and thou shalt keep 
thy pocket light. I shall eat my bread and meat, 
and thou shalt feed on bread and salt—water we 
can have in common. What I can not use myself, 
I will let thee have at cost price, plus a fair profit, 
that thou mayest produce the things I want on 
my own terms. I shall keep the horn of plenty 
within my door, under lock and key, and thou 
shalt drive the wolf from thy door. 

“In case I get mixed up in a row 
With a foreign, despicable foe, 

For safety I will hie to cover 
Till the heat of the brawl is over; 

And thou, like a good patriot, 

On foot, horse, and in chariot, 

Pinned on thy breast a soldier-tag, 

Shalt go forth to fight for ‘country and flag.’ 
The blood that is spilled in the fight 
I'll turn to gold, glittering bright, 

Keeping, of course, the yellow pelf 
For my own superior self, 

Letting thee wait for a bonus, 

Shifting on Uncle Sam the onus. 

52 


“This beautiful globe is our common heritage— 
mine and thine; but I am the natural master and 
lord, owner and possessor of all the earth and the 
fullness thereof. Mine is to direct and oversee, 
thine to work and obey. With thy labor at my 
command, I will develop and exploit all the sur¬ 
face of the earth, and all the finds within its 
bowels. Whether it be cutting the forests, drain¬ 
ing swamps, building roads, or going down into 
the mines, digging coal and ore, or whatever haz¬ 
ardous work there is to be done, it shall be thy 
brawn and sinew that will be put to test, while I 
look on and rest, get the credit for things done, 
and gather the shekels. Whenever thy faithful 
service and labor bring forth a gain of tenfold for 
me, I shall be glad to give thee one measure 
thereof as thy share, for thou art my flesh and 
blood. When nightfall ends thy day’s hard labor, 
and my fussy activities, I will retire to my ele¬ 
gant mansion that thou hast built for me and lock 
my door against any intrusion; and thou wilt go 
for thy night’s rest under the roof of the dwelling 
that I have let thee put up for thyself and for 
which I will collect a proper rental. 

“Thus we shall live like brother with brother, 
for thou art bone of my bone and flesh of my 
flesh, and we can not do without each other.” 


53 


tEfje 'Snbissible Cfjatns 

B ECAUSE one is outside the prison walls, it 
doesn’t follow that he is a free man. 

Not all who walk the streets or drive about 
know the blessing of liberty. Not all who “do 
as they please” act at their own truly free will. 
Slavery has not yet been abolished—it is simply 
changed in form. 

There is the unredeemable slave to vice, pos¬ 
sessed of an uncontrollable self-destructive crav¬ 
ing mania for some particular evil practice that 
drives him on the downward course to perdition. 

There is the person who, though to all appear¬ 
ances intelligent and having all the means and 
opportunity to enjoy perfect freedom, is held in 
bondage of some health-destroying habits, a vic¬ 
tim of self-inflicted suffering. 

There is the poor slave of the present indus¬ 
trial system, chained to the bench of the shop, the 
loom of the mill, or entombed in the dark mine 
under ground, wearing his life out for a pittance, 
not enough to feed, clothe or house his wife and 
children decently, with little or no hope of ever 
becoming a free, independent man. 

But worse off is the unfortunate prisoner of 


54 


poverty, held tightly in the clutches of want. 
Worn-out brawn and sinew having been rejected 
on the labor market, energy exhausted, or brains 
incapable of commercialization, the victim is 
doomed to confinement behind the bars of disabil¬ 
ity, deprived of free movement, and denied an 
opportunity in the game of life. 

And how often do we meet the helpless slaves of 
other complicated circumstances which are be¬ 
yond the control of any one person! Numberless 
and cruel are the petty tyrannies that rob the in¬ 
dividual of the measure of freedom necessary for 
self-development and self-expression, denying 
the conditions which alone make life worth-while. 

The heaviest chains that cut deep into the flesh 
of manhood, the most degrading shackles that fet¬ 
ter the human spirit, are those forged by inordin¬ 
ate passion for power, or greed of money; for the 
attainment of either, one, too often, gets at dag¬ 
gers with one's own conscience. 

Here is something strange and contradictory in 
the whole being of one who was meant by nature 
to be good, free, and happy, but is neither. Every¬ 
thing in him seems to be strained and unnatural. 
He talks loud, with over-assertive emphasis, at 
one time; hesitatingly and timidly, at another, 
with the evident intention in both cases of conceal¬ 
ing his real self, which really is not his true Self. 


55 


He moves with a jerk and a push, as though he is 
forcing his way through a dense crowd, or break¬ 
ing in a door; yet at times he walks with halting 
and uncertain steps, as though kept back by some 
disturbing thought. He seeks excitement in the 
company of “good fellows,” whose noisy ways and 
occasional debauch seem to be his best recreation, 
while the gathering of earnest people for the pro¬ 
mulgation of some high ideal he shuns, yet he 
somewhat dimly feels that he is a stranger among 
the former, and that his place should have been 
among the latter. But such and other unwelcome 
finer feelings are held down by a riff-raff, rough 
crowd of ugly thoughts which have blown in from 
the jungle-world at an ill-fated moment and have 
taken possession of the unhappy man's dome. As 
you watch this mental and moral confusion within 
a human mind, as you study this psychological 
perversion by which the creative fires of Heaven 
are converted into devouring flames of hell, where 
a soul is being burned alive by her own owner, 
you realize, with a shudder, that you are wit¬ 
nessing a life's tragedy and are strangely im¬ 
pelled to learn its story. 

Stories of life-tragedies of our own day and 
generation (to which this discourse is limited) 
are innumerable and run in endless variation; but 
differ as they may in detail, depth, and pathos, 


56 


there is one thread that runs through them all and 
ends at the same point—the point of the moral it 
emphasizes. And it is this general thread and 
point that we here follow in the following: 

When a young man, he had a long and bitter 
struggle to get a foothold on firm ground of per¬ 
manent success. He was possessed of great ambi¬ 
tion and a burning passion for wealth and power; 
but great as his ambition was, so great and many 
were the obstacles. The straight path leading 
upwards was steep and hard for him to climb—it 
required patience, perseverance, self-confidence 
and time. Temptation led to round-about wind¬ 
ing ways and questionable means; he yielded to 
allurements, plunged into dark alleys to steal his 
way to success of any kind, at any price; but he 
was being constantly disturbed by the warnings 
and protests of his conscience, that unnerved him 
at critical moments and made him unfit for quick, 
decisive moves in underhand work. So, one day, 
when a “deal” was to be entered into and a “job” 
had to be “pulled off,” and a big reward of tainted 
cash was in sight, he grew desperate, strangled his 
soul, slew his conscience, and hushed the small, 
still voice within forever. Gone, ever since, is 
his peace of mind, the guilt of murder resting 
heavily on him. In vain he tries to argue him¬ 
self out of it—he is no homicide; no man's blood 
crimsoned his hands; but the charge of that awful 


57 


crime is burned deep into his consciousness. He 
is aware of the loss of his freedom; aware that 
he had been tried, convicted, and condemned to 
lifelong imprisonment. The prison that confines 
him is a prison without stone walls, without iron 
bars, yet a prison all the same—an inner prison 
which he carries with him and from which there 
is no escape. In spite of his airs of bravado, he 
is the most miserable man, even if he would not 
own it to himself. 

Ah! the cases of wrecked humanity are too 
many to enumerate them all; and besides, it is too 
painful to dwell on them too long. The number 
of men and women who lost either their moral or 
economic freedom, or both, is far greater than the 
number of those physically confined within the 
prison walls. As you stand on the corner of a 
busy thoroughfare in any large city and watch the 
mournful procession of those condemned to penal 
servitude for life struggling by, you almost hear 
the clank of their chains. 


58 


Jfierp &teeb£( anb ®fjeir jflaster* 

P ASSIONS are fiery steeds hitched to the char¬ 
iot of life. Alert, with the reins well in 
hand, the rider is safe, while enjoying the thrill 
of a joy-ride. But woe unto him, who loses the 
control over his speeding chargers. 

Here is a chariot with a careless, reckless driver 
in it. In his excitement he lets the reins drop 
from his hands; the devil, hiding behind the mile¬ 
post, by the roadside, sees his chance, and, jump¬ 
ing upon the backs of the animals, cuts the reins, 
pulls the bridles off, and prods them with his 
pitch-fork to dangerous speed; drunk with over¬ 
excitement, the rider, with his bewildered horses, 
breaks clear through the fence of the law, and his 
career comes to a sad and disgraceful end. The 
rider is put behind the iron bars for overspeed¬ 
ing. 

Here is another team; the devil, with the reins 
in his own hands, standing by the side of the rider 
in the chariot, is actually driving at the man's own 
invitation. Away the animals are tearing, urged 
on by the devil's brutal prodding; over rocks and 
down through ditches goes the chariot; the rider 
is repeatedly thrown off his feet and tries in vain 
to steady himself; dazed by the awful shake up, 


59 


he pleads with the devil to slow down just a bit; 
but the evil-one laughs at the pleadings of the 
weakling, and drives faster and faster, till, sud¬ 
denly, the joy-ride is broken up abruptly, and 
horses, chariot, and rider, are all hurled down a 
steep precipice to destruction. The devil jumps 
off lightly, and standing on the brink of the 
chasm, looks down at his victim and grins 
maliciously. 

But, ah! what a beautiful, strongly built char¬ 
iot is this? Decorated with flowers and flags, 
and the steeds, three of them—how strong and 
beautiful, and full of animation! 

Isn’t there danger in riding such fiery steeds? 

No, not at all! provided there is the strong man 
who can impose his will-power on them—the man 
who knows how to subject them to his absolute 
control by constant training, and who under¬ 
stands their nature and moods. 

And here he is—the ideal master of the ideal 
steeds hitched to the ideal chariot—strong, but 
not rough; firm, yet mild; self-confident, but not 
self-conceited; he knows the pace of moderation 
he ought and can keep. 

There is mutual sympathy between master and 
these, his well-trained steeds; he pats them, they 
respond with a friendly shake of their heads. 
With full confidence in his power to control them, 


60 


as well as in their good behavior to which he had 
trained them, the young man steps into the char¬ 
iot, takes the reins in both of his hands, plants his 
feet firmly on the floor of his vehicle, gives the 
signal, and away they go, proudly prancing, fairly 
dancing for joy. 

Delighted, yet all alert, the young rider stands 
erect, with reins tight in his firm grasp. It is a 
pleasure-ride he is taking, yet he enters into it 
with all his faculties roused, as though he has a 
sacred duty to perform. As his nerves begin to 
tingle slightly, he leans a little forward, so as to 
relieve the tightness of the reins just a little, 
gives another encouraging signal, and off they go, 
his swift-footed steeds, with somewhat increased 
speed, yet always with measured, rhythmic beat, 
never stumbling, nor swerving from the straight 
line of the track. The force of the speed is so 
steady and uniform that the chariot is carried 
smoothly onward, getting over dents in the road¬ 
bed without a jolt. 

To be sure the devil is there by the roadside 
with his implements for his devilish plot and plan 
—a lasso, a net, and a prodding fork; but he is 
cowed by the force of defiance radiating from 
both, masterful rider and well-trained steeds; 
beaten into the dust, the evil-one fades completely 
out of sight. 

The rider proceeds on his master-drive of pleas- 


61 


ure without a break, avoiding obstructions, skill¬ 
fully passing sharp turns, always in perfect con¬ 
trol, without the remotest apprehension of the 
slightest injury either to himself, to his steeds, or 
his chariot. Finally, flushed with exhilaration, 
triumphant and happy, he reaches the point of his 
aim and destination—the Grand Stand of Suc¬ 
cess. He is greeted by cheering crowds, is hailed 
as the hero of the day, is rewarded with the lau¬ 
rels of praise. But what he won, he won with¬ 
out racing for it; he did not compete for any 
prize; he reached the Grand Stand of Success 
simply by virtue of his knowledge and ability to 
handle his well-built chariot, and to train, disci¬ 
pline, and control his fiery steeds. 


♦From “SOCIAL REGENERATION,” 
published by the author of this book. 


62 


a work soon to be 



BRINGING IN THE SHEAVES 


PART TWO 



“Speak not of the transient, 
Whatever its sphere; 

To make self eternal, 

Is our task here.” 


—Goethe. 


Mo Jiot Submit 


Do not submit to cruel fate— 

Her hand may strike, but not defeat— 
In its majestic, royal state 
Let loyal Reason keep its seat. 

And by the force of a firm will, 

In thy most trying, bitter hour, 

Thou alway canst be master still, 
Turning Weakness into Power. 


65 


Jfortitube 


Though deep as the sea 
Thy sorrow may be, 

Bitter the struggle, fierce the strife— 

Be firm, serene, 

Let naught intervene 

’Twixt thee and the purpose of life. 

Unswervingly follow the way 
Where Duty leads thee day by day; 

Work, persevere, do not despair; 

Let the light of Hope brightly shine, 

And Faith keep warm the heart of thine— 
Be happy thou hast done thy share. 




VMi)V « JSattlefielb? 

Why turn this world into a battlefield? 
Why, Oh, why, to savage instinct yield? 
Wherefore all this contention and strife ? 
Why not a beautiful garden of life, 
With creeping vine and shady bowers, 
With well-kept beds of fragrant flowers, 
Carefully, tenderly, grown from seeds 
Of Love and Justice, and Righteous Deeds? 
Why don't you ever think of the plan, 

O, foolish, wind-chasing, restless Man? 


6 ? 


Jfflen Pe Protfjers 

Men, be brothers! cease your fight! 

Let us have peace and sunshine bright, 

Ere the coming of the night. 

How brief our span of earthly life! 

How full of struggle and of strife! 

How pressed with work is our short day! 

How fast the hours are passing away! 

Leaving behind trouble and vexation— 

Most of our own thoughtless creation— 

How painfully we look back to the past, 

When the shadows ’round us are gathering fast. 

So, men, be brothers! cease your fight! 

Let us have peace and sunshine bright, 

Ere the coming of the night. 

How heavy today our load of sorrow! 

How doubtful the outlook of the morrow! 

How few and fleeting the joys 
’Mid the tumult and the noise 
Of our hurly-burly life, 

In the heat of ceaseless strife! 

In the hustle and bustle of mart and mill, 

Where millions are toiling their hunger to still. 

So, men, be brothers! cease your fight! 

Let us have peace and sunshine bright, 

Ere the coming of the night. 


68 


Jfflan ts ©ttotne 


Man is divine, 

Life is sublime, 

When free from sin's damnation; 

When the small, still voice he heeds, 

His soul and spirit he feeds, 

In Justice and Love seeking salvation. 


69 


®be Human Heart 

How sensitive the human heart! 

How often does it wince and smart! 

When affected by discomfort, 

Be it of e’er so slight import 

How whimperingly it does complain 

At the faintest touch of pricking pain! 

How it flutters with irritation 
At a brief moment’s aggravation! 

But, Oh! how this very touchy heart, 
Oversensitive on its own part, 

Turns numb and dry, ice-cold and stone-hard, 
When asked to consider with regard 
The sore affliction of another, 

When suffers a sister, a brother. 

How it shrivels! How it shrinks and hides! 
And palsied under cover slides, 

Behind the egotist’s armor of steel, 

Insensate to all plaintive appeal, 

Coming from the stricken with grief, 

In urgent need of quick relief, 

Or simply of kindness a ray 
To brighten a dark and rainy day. 


70 


Exhausted and worn, 
Bleeding and torn, 
Writhing in agony, 

A fellowman must be, 

His cry of despair 
Piercing the air, 

Before tear-stained pity 
And throbbing sympathy 
Will respond in a way 
Ready suffering to stay. 


n 


®i), tfje ®8lorlb! 

Oh, the ice-bound, 

Frost-benumbed 

World! where 

The face of sympathy 

Behind the clouds of selfishness 

Is hid. 

Oh, the barren arctic regions 
Of man’s indifference! 

Where the dawn of the day 
With the frown of the night 
In cold embrace meet. 

How many noble aspirations 
Have been frozen on the wing! 
How many cherished hopes 
Of high ideals, 

Nurtured by the heart-blood 
Of ardent seekers after Truth, 
Have perished for the want 
Of a ray of light, 

A note of cheer, 

A breath of fellow-feeling, 

A sign of human interest! . . . 
Oh, the world! 

Thoughtless, soulless world! 


72 


<Et)e Worlb ®o Pc 

This world, Oh, shame! we must admit, 

In our day and generation, 

Is yet a desert, still unfit 
For real civilization. 

Still a wilderness of error, 

The jungle law still holding fast; 

Savage instinct spreading terror, 

Might is victor as in the past. 

Still a thousand years behind, 

Despite the airplane, and such, 

In confusion is man, still blind, 

Grooping—he has yet to learn much. 

How to make life truly human, 

All things degrading cast away; 

Break the cruel rule of Mammon, 

For social progress pave the way. 

How to silence, once for ever, 

The awful howl of wolf-greed; 

How to banish hate, and never 
Let take root its pernicious seed. 

How of righteousness the reign supreme 
Of the social order be made part; 

And Love, and Justice, in life’s scheme, 
Forever dwell in the human heart. 


73 


How break the fetters of the soul, 
Set the human spirit free 
To lead mankind to higher goal, 
Where a god-man man can be. 


74 


®fje ®rout)lei> Poet 

Heigh-ho! the cruel world is certainly hard 
On the poor Poet, unhappy bard. 

They want him a commercial pen to wield, 
Or do life-service in some such field 
Where “practical” business results grow; 
Be patiently sweating for John Doe, 
Wasting himself, his soul-life in vain, 

At some hum-drum on lower plane; 

Or else turn stunts, be a circus clown, 

Live a life of jest, not his own, 

Traveling along the noisy joy-road, 

If he’s to escape of troubles a load. 

And so, that’s why and wherefore 
The Poet is troubled forevermore. 

Hence this plea: While still we’re here, 
Some good soul lend a willing ear 
To the Poet’s hard-luck story, 

How the Jinx of gnawing worry 
Forever follows on his trail 
With the usual returned mail 
Of unmarketed rhyming matter, 

Because wanting is the latter 
In market essentials, which 
Precludes the Poet’s right to preach. 


75 


Or expound too ideal a cause, 

And to be sure, still more because 
Experience has proved that best 
And more profitable is a jest, 

A funny story and cartoon 

Of the man in the cheese-made moon, 

Than heavy verses of deep meaning, 

Of which light readers have no inning. 

But rejecting the crude notion 
That for material promotion 
The market must be made the goal 
Of the products of mind and soul, 

The Poet, for years and years, 

Without hopes and without fears, 

Has been in the habit glad— 

Though heavy oft his heart and sad— 

To strike the lyre of inspiration, 

In a fervor of exultation, 

Dreaming dreams of a far off future, 

Of a higher ideal nature; 

Urged by Muse he sought to light the way, 
Leading to a glorious day, 

Of world-wide peace a happy time, 

When life a symphony sublime 

Shall be, not one of struggle and of strife, 

When human nature shall be rife 

For an ideal social Order 

That on righteousness shall border. 


76 


For years, and years, and years, 

Each day as it appears, 

Coming with the dawn in the east, 

To treat his spirit to a feast 

Has been the Poet’s order of things— 

A habit that to him still clings— 

Feeling the urge of poetizing, 
Spectroscope analyzing 
Life’s rainbow and dark cloud, 

And to let his soul speak out loud 
In pleading and appealing rhyme, 
Morning, noon and even time, 

Whenever stirring thoughts in commotion 
Come riding on the surf of emotion. 


And while ignoring the market lure, 
Where returns more or less are sure; 
Ignoring seductive fickle Fame, 
Shielding steadfastly self and name 
From publicity’s immodest glare, 
Avoiding its temptation’s snare, 

The sense of self-preservation 
Forbids neglect and evasion 
Of a body’s inherent right 
To protection against the plight 
Of a physical existence 
Without the natural subsistence 
On which a body must depend, 


77 


By which alone life can tend 
To a higher aim and goal— 

In a sound body a sound soul. 

So the Poet sought things so to arrange 
That by a sort of fair exchange 
Of the products of his soul-life 
For the necessities of life, 

Through direct co-operation, 

And a free association 
With many a true book-lover 
And patron the wide-world over, 
Physicus self-asserting, snappy, 

Could be made reasonably happy; 

While the soul to higher plane may rise, 

And be not hampered in anywise 

By mental anguish, which is bom 

Of insecurity, that torn 

May be the ties that together bind 

Flesh and spirit, body and mind. 

But heigh-ho! heigh-ho!! 

Sad and long is the tale of woe. 

The Poet’s plan, ideal scheme, 

Proved to be a far-fetched dream. 

For while in the w r orld of trade 
Of ev’ry sort and ev’ry grade, 

You can, following the trail and trend 
Of the markets, the world’s farthest end 


78 


Reach, your next-door neighbor’s heart and house 
Are padlocked, barred, you can’t arouse 
His human interest to make 
Him do ought for ideal’s sake. 

For naught can live, naught realized 
Unless it be so commercialized, 

Widely and wildly advertized, 

And some one hero aggrandized, 

As to create a stampede and crush, 

Of eager crowds a mad rush 
To the trading posts of John Doe, 

Where business streams forever flow. 

Alas! Alack! 0 poor, poor bard! 

His lot, indeed, is tragic; hard 
B’yond endurance of mortal clay; 

Such martyrdom who a single day 
Could ever bear and not complain, 

Enduring want’s sharp pangs of pain? 

Why? Oh, why—who’ll answer make?— 

Do we the Poet thus forsake ? 

Why, while alive, of thorns a bed 
And care a pillow under head 
Be his share, and fame wrought in stone 
For those who long ago have gone? 


79 


®Ufmt is tfje Use of a Haugfjtns iWuse ? 
or, Haugf) ©a p 

PRELUDE. 

What is the use 
Of a laughing Muse, 

If the spirit of cheer 
Is lacking here? 

If there’s nowhere 
One free from care, 

Whom one could meet 
For a laughing treat, 

Or exchange a smile 
In a worth-while 
Friendly chit-chat 
On this and that, 

What is the use 
Of a laughing Muse? 


80 


I. 


I went up the busy street 
A happy fellowman to meet— 

He the advocate of “Laugh Day,” 

So I have heard the papers say— 

And I was prepared to find 
A man of the sort and kind 
That is to jolliness inclined, 

One of an optimistic mind 
Who can laugh at worry and care, 
Ever ready an hour to spare 
A congenial fellow to meet 
For a jollification treat. 

And I thought how with laughter gay 
We’ll inaugurate the “Laugh Day”; 
How the air with ha-ha-ha will ring, 
When, light of heart, we shall swing 
To the merry, laughing subject. 

With the worthy, noble object 
The dear public to conjure 
With the happy laughter lure, 

All according to the plan 
Of this jolly, laughing man. 


81 


II. 

But, alas! the “Laugh Day” scheme 
Looked to be an idle dream; 

Under cold business sway 

Our laughing friend was away— 

Not though on a laughter tour, 

Of this, indeed, I'm quite sure— 
Engrossed with business was he, 

As far as anyone could see. 

And I was depressed at the thought 
Over the why and the what 
Of the daily business grind 
That so affects the business mind, 
During the stress of business hours, 
That all its quick, alert powers 
Are attuned to business only. 
Business, business, business only 
Is considered with respect; 

It alone can expect 
The attention it demands; 

Ever ready, willing hands 

Are outstretched to grasp a chance 

In business self to advance. 

Even laugh-provoking fun 
By strict business rule is run. 

As to products of the soul 

With a mission for a higher goal— 

They are not of trade a part, 

And have no place on the mart. 


82 


III. 


If you would benefit the Race, 

Let Business give the honor place 
To all things noble and ideal, 

Make the joy of living real. 

Let Business from its daily life 
Remove the elements of strife, 

And Peace and Good-will reign instead, 
Contentment and gladness be spread 
Throughout this happy, blessed land, 

Then will '‘Laugh Day” be at hand. 

Of the family the head 

Will laugh—in the cupboard there's bread, 

And a full assorted line 

Of provisions wholesome, fine; 

The happy house-wife, smiling, sweet, 

With beaming face will husband meet; 

And of happy children a crowd 
With song and hearty laughter loud 
The well-provided house will fill, 

As they feel of joy the thrill. 


83 


IV. 


A happy home is the foundation 
Of a prosperous, happy nation. 

When big Business finds its heart, 

And the Golden Rule becomes part 
Of each honest business deal, 

With a view to a neighbors weal, 

And prosperity issues forth, 

Spreading East and West, South and North, 
Blessed with plenty ev’ry home— 

Then will “Laugh Day” sure have come. 
Brawny boys, fast growing tall, 

And the lassies, big and small, 

Strong of limb and fair of face, 

Full of vigor and of grace; 

All at school or at college, 

Drinking from the well of knowledge; 
Diligent and aiming high, 

Conscious of duty nigh; 

Champions of the grand old plan 
As taught in “Love thy fellowman.” 

But without worry, and care-free, 

When they’ll go on a jolly spree, 

Off will come roof and rafter 
From the Grand House of Laughter. 


m 


V. 


And the young men of seventy-five, 

Eighty, ninety, and quite alive 
At a hundred—all Grandpas dear, 

Every one a sage, a seer; 

And young women of same ages, 

Gone through all growing stages— 
Budding girlhood, blooming maidenhood, 
Ripe and beautiful womanhood, 

With the blessing of happy motherhood, 
And the glory of Grand-motherhood, 

And still in the bloom of health, 

More precious than great wealth— 

How with joy their breasts will swell, 

Of what happiness will tell 
Their silver rings of laughter, 

When with will and vim after 

The younger youngsters, on “Laugh Day,” 

They’ll follow in sport and play; 

Then “Laugh Day” it will be indeed— 

A dream wrought into active deed. 

No more anguish and no more grief, 

From anxiety complete relief; 

Broken of poverty the chains, 

Disease abolished, aches and pains; 

Full salvation for every soul, 

A chance to reach one’s highest goal. 

The heavens in radiance will smile— 

For once creation was worth-while. 


85 


VI. 


O men of vision! can you see 
That true “Laugh Day” that is to be? 
When in her best mood and state 
Nature joins men to celebrate 
The triumph and realization 
Of highest human aspiration. 

The blazing sun with laughter red 
Brightens the feast that Nature spread; 
Refreshing breezes laugh aloud 
And fan the mirth of the joyous crowd; 
Field and meadow, for miles and miles, 
Are splashed all o'er with sunny smiles; 
Shady woodland, far and near, 

Resound with song and shouts of cheer; 
Leaping brook and flowing river 
Are with laughter all aquiver. 

'Mid laughing ripples of placid lake, 
Alive, astir, and wide awake, 

With human freight are ships afloat, 
Gala with bunting is each boat— 

A majestic, inspiring sight— 

Proudly sailing to the right, 

Or to the left, or straight ahead, 

Like huge wings the sails are spread. 
On these ships on a holiday cruise, 

To entertain and to amuse 
Merry-making crowds, and gay, 

String orchestra and brass bands play. 


86 


Thousand-throated choruses sing— 
Unbounded joy a gushing spring— 
Vibrant with music is the air, 

And the weather so splendid, fair, 
On this grand day of all days, 
When in a million human ways, 
With joy beyond all expression, 

Of happiness deep impression, 

The Golden Rule Festival— 

The Brotherhood Carnival 
Is at the height of celebration 
By a free and happy nation. 


87 


£S>earcf)ing for &aUmtton 

Searching for salvation 
Of the Human Race; 

For its exaltation 
To ideal grace. 

For a clearer vision 
And a wider range; 

A complete revision 

Of life's errors strange. 

For the valuation 

Of moral forces new; 

A straight application 
Of righteous practice due. 

Searching for the highest Good, 
Searching for the True; 

Tracing through glen and wood 
To happiness a clue. 

Seeking blessed sunshine bright, 
Cooling brook and shade; 

Seeking fuller inner light, 

Reaching upward grade. 


Bent on full communion 
With the heavens blue; 

Feeling a close union 
With all creation, too. 

Finding inspiration 
In the heaving deep, 

In the contemplation 
Of the mountain steep. 

Trusting intuition, 

One with reason clear; 

Mastering volition 

With faith, hope, and cheer. 

Striving for the unity 
Of Mankind all, 

The triumph of Humanity, 

Her impressive call. 

List'ning to the voice divine 
Coming down the ages, 

To the sacred Truth sublime 
Taught by seers and sages. 

How true and simple Wisdom's plan! 
Greater there was never— 

“Thou shalt love thy fellowman,” 

And be blest forever. 


89 


Blest with inward peace serene, 

Happy in the thought 

That love of neighbor may mean 
The salvation sought. 

By love life’s mighty ocean, 

Stormy now, and restless, 

Driven by gales of passion 
Blind, mad, and reckless, 

Shall pacified be at last; 

And the course of peaceful progress 

To higher aims shall hold fast, 

As Mankind doth onward press. 

Onward, upward, and secure 
In the blessings of 

A world-peace that will endure, 

And in the fruit thereof. 

In the reign of righteousness 
Salvation we will find; 

Everlasting happiness 
Of all Humankind. 


90 


®fje pjjilosopfjp of ILife 

“Laugh, and the world laughs with you, 

Weep, and you weep alone.” 

—Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

I. 

A T A HERE is a cruel truth expressed in these 
-■* lines, but it is a truth, nevertheless. And 
there are various reasons for it—psychological, 
physiological, and simply logical. A brief con¬ 
sideration of some of them is not without use. 

There is an instinct of happiness inherent in 
every human being; this instinct is closely inter¬ 
woven with the instinct of life itself. Man, like 
every living being, clings to life under all circum¬ 
stances with a wonderful tenacity, and because of 
that strong attachment to life, man strives to 
make life as happy as possible. He toils and 
moils and never tires of exerting himself in vari¬ 
ous directions to improve the conditions under 
which he is living, and to increase the sum-total 
of his enjoyment, circumscribed by moral law and 
established custom. And just as under the in¬ 
stinct of self-preservation, man is alert in avoid¬ 
ing injury, so under the influence of his intense 
yearning for happiness—of which, by the way, 
there is very little in this world—he instinctively 


91 


shrinks from burdens of sorrow and borrowed 
trouble, if he can help it. 

“Weep, and you weep alone,” for weeping is 
an expression of grief, a demonstration of dis¬ 
tress. Whatever the cause, it invariably starts 
with some painful impression on the brain, pro¬ 
ducing a gloomy mind-picture, and diffusing a 
sensation of sadness through the soul. It is 
accompanied by an aching contraction of the heart 
and irritation of the nerves. And what is more, 
it is contagious—the weeping of one affects others 
who happen to be within sight of the one that is 
weeping, or even within hearing; hearts contract 
with pain and tears glisten in the eyes, and a 
gloomy mood comes over all present. Now, as it 
is natural to avoid pain, so it is natural to shun 
painful impressions. 

It is true, compassion is a human attribute. We 
feel pity for the sick and suffering; our hearts 
go out with sympathy for the grief-stricken and 
bereaved. But it is as well to remember that the 
world’s sympathy, so warm and tender today, 
grows cold and stale tomorrow, or a day after. 

Hearken then to good advice, 

Accentuated twice:— 

Keep your head, be self-possessed, 

No matter how distressed; 

Though cruelly by Fate hard hit, 


92 


Don’t be lost in a weeping fit. 

If the inevitable must be borne, 

Bear it bravely. A creature forlorn, 
Broken in spirit, dejected, 

However badly affected, 

By what misfortune o’ertaken, 

Is one most always forsaken. 

’Tis better you steel your heart— 
Though it doth painfully smart— 

And yourself together pull, 

Follow the great stoic’s rule— 

“Hold thine own,” 

Than to toss about and moan, 

And mournfully sigh, 

Like a weakling whine and cry 
At every pinch of pain. 

If trouble on your head doth rain, 

Put on your water-proof hood 
Of sustaining fortitude, 

And calmly the storm brave— 

No use to fret and rave— 

Let the thunder clap o’erhead roll, 

And blinding lightning b’yond control 
The darkness deep rend in twain, 

Calm and sunshine will sure again 
Come back your troubled soul to cheer; 
And azure skies, bright and clear, 

With renewed hope will inspire you, 
Revealing life in brighter hue. 


93 


But if brooding, your strength is spent, 
And naught you do but lament, 

And cast down, with hanging head, 

You shuffle along with halting tread, 

In sorrow your spirit wrapt, 

You are most likely apt 
Deserted yourself to find 
By friends so kindly unkind, 

As would not your burden bear; 

For sympathy will but wear 
For a brief while; warm today, 

It shrivels and dries soon away, 

When, under life , s rule and sway, 

The old world goes its own way. 


94 


“They laugh that win.”—Shakespeare in 
“Othello.” 

They win that laugh.—The author. 

“Laugh and be fat, sir.”—Ben Jonson. 

“Laughter is my object; 

’Tis a property in man 
Essential to his reason.” 

—Randolph. 

II. 

There is nothing so taking, so winning, as a 
good, natural, unaffected laugh. Laughter is both 
the cause and the effect of health and happiness. 
You laugh because you feel healthy and happy. 
You are healthy and happy because you laugh— 
because you are of a sunny disposition and take 
an optimistic view of life. 

Both the physiology and psychology of laughter 
are the very reverse of that of weeping. It 
begins with some pleasant impression on the 
brain, creating a bright mind-picture, tickling the 
nerves in a pleasant way, spreading a cheerful 
sensation through your whole being, quickening 
the pulse, and increasing the number and strength 
of the heart-throbs, thus bringing a ruddy color 
to the cheeks. Laughter helps digestion, pro¬ 
motes the accumulation of the natural amount of 
adipose necessary to round out the form and to 
keep the body warm. That is why people are 
ever ready to join in a hearty laugh. For as said 
before, the instinct of happiness is inherent in 
every human being. 


95 


Hearken then to good advice, 
Accentuated thrice:— 

Let not dull worry press your brow, 

To the four winds scatter your woe; 
Smooth the wrinkles on your forehead, 
Singing merrily, walk ahead 
On life’s wind-swept, rough, hard road; 
And if too heavy is your load, 

It can, with ease, be made light 
By cheering hope and thoughts bright. 
Have no fear if things go queer, 

Over spilled milk shed no tear, 

And never show your face awry; 

Be sure you do your best and try 
To laugh at Care—the ugly witch, 

When in your face she’d take a stitch. 
Gloomy Jinxes—Worry and Care, 

And that arch-enemy—Despair. 

Laugh them down, laugh them out, 
With a rousing, laughing shout— 
Ho-ho-ho! Get ye gone! Ha-ha-ha! 
Hi-hi-hi! Heraus mit you! Ha-ha-ha! 

Laugh, and laugh, and laugh again; 

That will break the awful strain 
Of your irksome daily toil, 

And even old age it will foil. 


96 


Laugh, laugh all along the way; 

Let the sunshine of yesterday 
Reflect in life’s mirror today, 

So that its lingering rays may 
Dispel the creeping shadows of sorrow 
Within your tried soul tomorrow. 
Always have some noble cause at heart, 
Of Humanity be a fitting part; 

Have a care to do your share, 

With whatever you can spare, 
Someone’s crushing weight to lift, 
Bring to harbor those adrift; 

Some sufferer’s lot to lighten, 

Childhood and old age to brighten. 

But whether at work, or at play, 

Be you ever ready to say, 

With a winsome, friendly smile, 

Every once in a while: 

“Brothers! Sisters! Let’s have some 
Laughter, hearty and wholesome!” 

And whether in earnest or jest— 

It matters little in effect—just 
Break into a ringing ha-ha-ha! 
Hi-hi-hi! Ho-ho-ho! Ha-ha-ha! 

Laughter is a rippling lake. 

In which the soul is wont to take 
A plunge, in exaltation, 

Giving vent to its elation. 


97 


Laughing eyes, sparkling with light, 
Find in drudgery delight. 

He conserves endurance-power 
Who a troubleful, distressing hour 
Can pass ’mid golden rings of laughter, 
Waiting for the rainbow after, 

Warding off the hand of Fate, 

Keeping peace in his mind’s estate. 

If, then, to overcome you seek 
The vexations of a week, 

The wine of laughter is your chance— 
This tonic sure will enhance 
Your keen enjoyment of life, 

And make your daily struggle and strife 
Have some meaning, be worth-while. 

Let then a bright, sunny smile 
Of kindliness and cheer 
Your countenance endear 
To all those around you— 

Be they many or few— 

And for their sake and your own, 
Always strike a merry tone, 

Clear the atmosphere of gloom 
With a pealing, laughing boom— 
Ho-ho-ho! Ha-ha-ha! 

Hi-hi-hi! Ha-ha-ha! 


98 


BRINGING IN THE SHEAVES 


PART THREE 


APHORISMS AND REFLECTIONS 




COPYRIGHT 
OF FIRST EDITION 
JANUARY, 1913 

BY JOSEPH PARVIN 

Printed in U. S. of A. 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 




Jforetoortj 

to tfte jfiv&t Cbttton of 

&pi)orts;mg anb Reflections! 

F OR years I have been wielding a pen—not con¬ 
tinually, but now and then, and not com¬ 
mercially, either—and I kept at it with neither 
hope nor fear as to the practical results of what 
was to me a work of love; for it was simply to 
give expression to my soul-life that I strove. 

And I have had many a happy moment when 
over my desk I bent, with Muse divine as the only 
companion of mine by my side. 

As with ink and pen, every now and then, I 
over the paper went, I was wont with great in¬ 
tent to her gentle whisper listen, and to watch her 
eyes with heavenly fire glisten, and feel how my 
soul was carried away to some distant goal on 
inspiration's tide. 

And many a noble creation of pure independ¬ 
ent thought and sentiment—of truth an earnest 
presentation, was the outcome. 

But shine or rain, the children of my brain, 
whether one of a sentimental, pleading nature, or 
a daring, combative creature—one of the sort that 
would fain storm the fort where Wrong safely 


101 


sits in its position strong,—they all were kept at 
home. 

For I felt it to be of desecration an act, almost 
with the very satyr a deliberate pact, to send the 
offspring of my brain and heart to the common 
mart, even as the farmer sends his potatoes and 
corn, or the rancher his herds of hoof and horn. 

And thus I was spared the mortification of be¬ 
holding the desecration of the fruit of my soul- 
life by those traders in human brain—the pub¬ 
lishers. I was saved the pain. I had no cause 
to ever feel worried and dejected on account of 
any of my scrolls having been rejected—I have 
escaped this experience all. My own old desk 
was for them a good enough home; there with a 
warm welcome they were always kindly accepted. 

But, alas! Spring-time has passed quite fast; 
summer is over, cut is the clover; autumn is here, 
and even winter is near. This is a season strongly 
suggesting the reason for dry-fact and hard-cash 
realism, when the ingathering fruit of material¬ 
ism is in demand on every hand. 

The struggle and strife of our strenuous life is 
at fever heat; and it is beyond the ken of any 
man to keep on his feet when lost in a mid-day 
dream of things ideal; for hard facts of condi¬ 
tions cruelly real are at the bottom of our social 
order in the land. 

It is all very well, under inspiration's spell, 


102 


when Muse of the soul takes hold and begins to 
spin threads of silver and gold, and the whole 
world looks so beautiful and fair, full of enchant¬ 
ing castles in the air. But no sooner one becomes 
aware of the presence of pertinent Care, and 
hears the stern sound of reality’s call, when down 
one is brought to the ground with a fall. And 
then, Oh, what a plight! Just over night, and the 
wolf is at the door; and crouching on the floor, 
sits Poverty gaunt, with Want, her child, with 
hunger wild a-screaming. 

How can one continue life’s journey a-dream- 
ing? 

Practical men of today go about everything in 
a practical way. They waste no time in search 
of ideals sublime. Ideals don’t count, if they can’t 
add a few dollars to your account. An idle Muse 
is of no earthly use. The rough and hard ma¬ 
terial is of more value real. 

More than all the Muses nine is worth a coal 
mine under ground, with rolling mills above it all 
around. 

Ours is a materialistic age, and money is the 
object—quite a rage. We are of traders a hustling 
race, and the world is one big market-place. On 
the market ground, with sellers and buyers 
crowding all around, 

All things are thrown in a heap: 


103 


The wool from off the back of the sheep, 

The horse and the ox from the stall, 

Cotton, spices, and merchandise all; 

Cloaks and clocks, matches, watches, and diamond 
rings, 

And all sorts of useful, useless, and harmful 
things; 

The dead carcass of the poor slaughtered beast, 
Hacked, chopped, and by artifice disguised for 
man's feast; 

And the bottle of wine, whiskey, and beer, 

To substitute exhausted energy, stimulate, and 
cheer; 

And one thousand, one hundred and one 
Other things to use or abuse for fun; 

And the lawyer, the doctor, and the drug-vender, 
Each his service ready to render; 

Even the inspired product of the author’s pen, 
Like the squealing pig from the farmer’s pen,— 
all are articles of merchandise, whatever their 
value, or want of value, otherwise; all are objects 
of trade of every grade, and the question fore¬ 
most is always—how much is there in it? Where¬ 
in lies the most profit? And a multitude of mid¬ 
dlemen, on a well laid-out commercial plan, have 
set up toll-gates and charge high rates for med¬ 
dling with other people’s wares, multiplying or 
relieving their cares, as the case may be. 


104 


In view of this situation, created by the com¬ 
mercialization of all things under the sun, it was 
neither sport, nor fun, a new problem to face, 
without of fear a trace—to yield to the demands 
of this our business age, yet not leaving behind 
the idealistic stage. . . . 

Eureka! a way I have found to stand my 
ground. I shall accomplish the realization of the 
ideal through the idealization of the real. I have 
talked the matter over with my faithful Muse how 
our tete-a-tete may be turned to practical use. 

Though, with emphasis, I repeat my assertion 
that intense is my aversion to the current vulgar 
notion, that, for the sake of material promotion, 
the market must be the goal of the works of mind 
and soul; still, if the world insists on the economic 
oddities, that brain cells are commodities, and like 
the produce of the soil, or things shaped by the 
hand of toil, must all go on the exchange, I will 
proceed so to arrange as to circumvene the mid¬ 
dlemen, and bring the products of my pen direct 
from the producer to the consumer. There may 
be some humor in the novel plan, by which an 
author can, with the printer's aid, overcome the 
obstacles of trade, remove all commercial tares 
from his delicate affairs, and be free to work and 
create in accord with the pure state of his untram¬ 
melled soul, ideal being his only goal. 

In other words, my plan of exchange, which I 


105 


seek to arrange, is a kind of co-operation , a sort 
of association , between the author and the 
readers, forming of progressive minds a union, 
through the medium of soul-communion. 

I seek the pleasure of moral contact, as well as 
the benefit of an economic pact, with every book- 
lover all the world over. Every patron of the 
noble Art of Letters, who takes an interest in 
higher matters, is hereby cordially invited—and, 
I hope, will feel delighted—to become a patron 
and a friend of the publication of the author's 
works, and by direct communication, either by rail 
or by mail, each book, as it appears from the 
author's sanctum, to obtain, and thus help the 
writer greater efficiency to attain in his work in 
the cause of Progress and Humanity. 

THE AUTHOR. 


106 


Upfoorigma anb Reflections: 

i. 

« T IFE is but what we make it.” 

Alas! we have not as yet learn¬ 
ed the art of making life the right way. 

II. 

A loving heart is a source of inspiration to the 
thinking head. 


III. 

I was wakeful while asleep. I was conscious 
while a-dreaming. All seemed so very real. 
I saw myself weary, exhausted with toil, sitting 
on a stumbling block, and in front of me a huge 
and immovable rock of obstruction on my narrow 
path of life, the path being hedged in on both 
sides with an endless thicket of thorns and 
thistles, stretching as far as the eye could see. 
A shadow of gloom fell on my soul, sadness crept 
into my heart, while melancholy reflections on the 
martyrdom of some, aye, of most men, laboring in 
the fields of progress, slowly passed my mind, 
leaving impressions like deep-cut, bleeding 
wounds; and I cried out, with vehemence : 

Oh, when will the great truth of the unity of 


107 


the human race be universally accepted, and man 
be brother to man? 

When will unity of higher purpose—the fulfil¬ 
ment of man’s highest mission on earth, unite all 
mankind into one great fraternity? 

IV. 

The boundless future is infinitely greater than 
the passing present. Why then will man thought¬ 
lessly sacrifice all of the future for one fleeting 
moment of pleasure, vanity or power? 


V. 

The whole is larger than its part. Humanity 
is greater than the nation; the nation is greater 
than the community; the community is greater 
than the individual. Why, in pity, is Humanity 
ruthlessly sacrificed in wars of nation against 
nation ? Why does the individual, for his personal 
selfish ends, sacrifice the interests of both—nation 
and community? 


VI. 

“Love thy fellowman as thyself,” is the corner 
stone of every religion. But alas! ages have 
come and ages have gone; generation after gen¬ 
eration has been born into the world, lived, strug¬ 
gled, died and turned into dust; great prophets 


108 


have arisen at different times, preaching this gos¬ 
pel of love in all climes, proclaiming the principle 
of brotherhood in all tongues. And yet, all we 
have, up to these latter days of our pretended 
civilization, is the “corner stone,” and that as a 
figure of empty speech only. 

VII. 

Life is a great vineyard, and we are the labor¬ 
ers in it. 

There is but one thing for us to do in this great 
little world—work; work, not as slaves, but as 
freemen; work for the present in payment of our 
debts to the past, and to leave a legacy to poster¬ 
ity ; work not for selfish ends, but for the common 
good of mankind. 

Work diligently then, O, brother man! Work 
in the service of Humanity, along the lines of 
progress, within the process of evolution, using 
your own self as both material and instrument, 
and improving both. 

Strive for the attainment of the harmonious 
blending of thy individual higher “Self” with the 
great cosmos through the strict observance of 
Nature's Laws, and by the elevation of thy moral 
status. 

Thus thou shalt live, and thus thou shalt work, 
0, brother, to keep the sunny sky of life bright 
and clear. 


109 


VIII. 


Life is a sacred gift, a great heritage from the 
beginningless past, and is to be used for its per¬ 
petuation in the endless future. It is a sin and a 
crime to barter it away for things perishable, 
which sooner or later must be left behind. 

IX. 

Death is a great mystery which we can not 
solve; our inquiry into the Beyond remains unan¬ 
swered. 

But life is a certainty, a wonderful phenom¬ 
enon, a positive fact. We can investigate it; we 
can study its many-sided manifestations; and if 
we are, at the present stage of science, puzzled as 
to what the real basic principle of life is, we can 
still direct its current, improve its conditions, 
intensify its pulsation, and broaden its horizon. 

Like electricity, we can turn it into light, heat, 
and power. 


X. 

Diogenes, with lantern in hand, in broad day¬ 
light, searched for a man. Keep up the search 
diligently, 0 brother! Go down into the deepest 
recess of your own heart with such light that may 
be yours, and see whether you can’t find a man. 


no 


XI. 


What of your trained intellect? What of your 
store of acquired knowledge? Have you that 
thing called heart? Does it throb with human 
sympathy ? For, verily, it is this alone that gives 
you the claim to the title “Man.” All else is 
vanity. 


XII. 

The heart is not only the engine that keeps the 
physical machinery a-going, but it also puts the 
motor of thought into motion, though itself get¬ 
ting its orders from the brain. 

That is the reason why heart and head must be 
harmoniously united, if man is to have a safe 
guide in life. 


XIII. 

We think as we feel, and we feel as we think; 
but the Good is the test of both. “By the fruit 
ye shall know the tree.” 

XIV. 

There are things which are better understood 
by the heart than by the cold reasoning head; that 
is why, in questions of sentiment, the cold dry 
theorist, too often, goes wrong, while the common 
sense people are found in the right. 


ill 


XV. 


Good and bad are crops of the same patch; one 
flourishes by virtue of careful cultivation, the 
other because of careless neglect. It all depends 
upon how you act, as to what harvest you may 
expect. 

XVI. 

Religion without the practice of brotherly love 
is like a house without either foundation or roof. 

XVII. 

“It is easier for a camel to go through the eye 
of a needle” than for one living in affluence to 
understand the one struggling in want. 

XVIII. 

A gift that comes from the heart is warm with 
the sympathy of the donor, and evokes the warm 
gratitude of the recipient; while that which 
comes from the purse only, is cold like ice, and 
weighs like a mill-stone on the neck. 

XIX. 

If you can afford to give from your purse, why 
can’t you afford some sincere sympathy from your 
heart? 

XX. 

These two—the giving of your money, and the 


112 


giving of your sympathy—stand in inverted pro¬ 
portion: The more you have, the more you give; 
the more you give, the more you have . 

XXI. 

There are those who are niggardly with money, 
but effusive in offering sympathy; others are lib¬ 
eral with money, but stingy with the heart- 
product. Neither can be classed as a normal type 
of true humanity. 


XXII. 

Some there are by nature tight-hearted, and by 
habit tight-fisted. Blame them not—they are 
abject objects of real pity. 

XXIII. 

Give me the simple-minded man of unpreten¬ 
tious appearance, with a good, warm heart beat¬ 
ing with true human sympathy in his breast, 
rather than a polished thing in kid gloves with a 
palsied heart worn on the sleeve. 

XXIV. 

There is ninety per cent of selfishness in the 
unselfish acts of the average man; there is ninety 
per cent, of unselfishness in the selfish acts of the 
average woman. To discern the ninety per cent 


113 


in either case is much harder than to discover the 
ten. Such is human nature. 

XXV. 

“There is many a slip ’twixt the cup and the 
lip.” There is many a man for whom the “slip” 
would do better than the “cup.” 

XXVI. 

How many of us are acting on life’s stage the 
part of tragedy, while thinking it is a comedy. 

XXVII. 

In the hunt for wealth, man loses his health; 
but what is worse, he loses his soul, too. To 
recover the former, he calls in a physician; to 
regain the latter, he seeks the priest. But, alas! 
all too late. 


XXVIII. 

There is sometime greater achievement in fail¬ 
ure than in success. 


XXIX. 

Failure often calls out more sterling qualities 
of character than success. 


114 


XXX. 

FAILURE A STEPPING-STONE TO SUCCESS 

You have set out to accomplish something 
worth-while; you have exerted yourself to im¬ 
prove your position by such honorable means as 
were within your reach; you have made every 
effort to win the desired advancement that might 
bring you nearer to the goal of your honest ambi¬ 
tion,—but all to no purpose; everything you tried 
went against you. Are you a failure? By no 
means! You simply have undergone the necessary 
training in the school of experience. Trying to 
succeed, in an honest, straightforward way, is in 
itself a success. It reveals the weak points in 
your make-up, showing you where and how the 
mending is to be done. It tightens your grip on 
the spade of perseverence, and makes you dig 
deeper for the treasure of success. 

And lo, and behold! Your achievement is great¬ 
er than that you at first dared to dream of. 

XXXI. 

Be Mother Nature’s obedient child with Wis¬ 
dom as your guide. 


XXXII. 

There is more pleasure in eating for health, 
than there is health in eating for pleasure. 


115 


XXXIII. 


Death is a thief, stealing into the vineyard of 
life, and man is both—its accomplice and its 
victim. 


XXXIV. 

Every case of premature death is a case of 
violent death. It is either murder, or suicide. 

XXXV. 

The sacredness of life is bound up in the sacred¬ 
ness of Nature's Laws. You can not transgress 
the latter without destroying the former. 

XXXVI. 

When the night of death casts its shadows 
across a man’s path of life, before he reached its 
remotest end, it is proof that that poor stricken 
human had lost his way in the wilderness of error 
somewhere, at some critical point of his journey, 
long before the fatal hour struck. 

XXXVII. 

Deep breathing of pure air, deep thinking of 
noble thoughts, deep feeling of human love—these 
are the essentials required for the development of 
a higher Humanity; these are the conditions that 
can bring about the realization of the proverbial 


116 


ideal of being healthy, wealthy, and wise, which 
also means, and happy otherwise. 

XXXVIII. 

Gold washed in tears is not worth having. 

XXXIX. 

Why wear our lives out to feed 
The ever-hungry wolf-greed? 

Why worry? Lose our mind’s peace 
For a new trinket, another gold piece? 

XL. 

Independence today— 

I regret to say— 

Is a snare and delusion. 

To this conclusion 

I am unwillingly brought 

By giving the subject some thought. 

XLI. 

Imagination is the most powerful microscope. 
Man, too often, makes use of this instrument in 
taking an estimate of his own importance. 

XLII. 

Folly is the hen that laid the egg of self-conceit; 
out of the egg Folly-hen was hatched. Now 


117 


comes the old question—which came first, the egg 
or the hen? 

XLIII. 

The folly of vanity! The vanity of folly! 
XLIV. 

Vanity is a mild form of insanity. 

XLV. 

Folly and wisdom are close neighbors, living 
under one roof. 


XLVI. 

Folly and Prudence are twins, often mistaken 
one for the other. 


XLVII. 

Vice and virtue are horses in one and the same 
team. 


XLVIII. 

Reason and imagination are forever at odds— 
what one creates, the other destroys. 

XLIX. 

Imagination builds castles in the air, Reason 
lays them in ruins. 


118 


L. 

Take out an insurance policy on your air- 
castles, with hope as an endowment. 

LI. 

Insurance means insecurity. 

LII. 

The fuller the miser's purse, the more he 
tightens its strings. 


LIII. 

Man and worm are fellow-creatures; the same 
life-principle is manifested in both, the same mys¬ 
tery evidently emanating from the same source. 

LIV. 

How often one's frail bark of life, struggling 
along the stream of time, is capsized and wrecked 
in the whirlpool of conflicting selfish interests! 

LV. 

Alas! while this beautiful earth of ours is to 
the few chosen children of man a promised land, 
overflowing with milk and honey, a veritable para¬ 
dise, with the Tree of Life and the Tree of 
Knowledge in its midst; to the many this old earth 
is only a valley of tears, overspread with shadows 


119 


of gloom and sadness; an island of dire want, 
washed by the troubled sea of misery. 

LVI. 

One possesses a grain of reason and a world of 
imagination, another is all cold reason, but hasn’t 
a whiff of imagination. Who is to be pitied most 
is hard to decide. 


LVII. 

“Sincerely yours” is quite often the thread-bare 
garment of insincerity incarnate, and “Yours 
truly” is all but a plain untruth—a matter of con¬ 
vention, forsooth. 


LVIII. 

Avoid conventional lies of every form and 
grade; be true to fact, call a spade, spade. 

LIX. 

For the Golden Rule there is but little chance, 
where men around the golden calf are wont to 
dance. 


LX. 

“The pen is mightier than the sword,” so they 
used to say. But now the power of the dollar has 


120 


been proclaimed; and they even say that “money 
talks.” What a superstition! 

LXI. 

Young men, eschew the carouse! “Don’t pay 
too much for the whistle.” Or you’ll find you 
have plucked a thistle instead of a fragrant rose. 

LXII. 

When a man says, “I am my own master,” he 
really means, he is his own slave. 

LXIII. 

The warm heart and the heated iron—both are 
hardened by the cooling process. 

LXIV. 

There is the underworld down in the depth of 
the lower strata of society, and there is an upper- 
underworld up in the higher layers. The re- 
pellant nakedness of the debauch in the former is 
less dangerous than the ensnaring gilded vices of 
the latter. 


LXV. 

“Thou shalt not kill,” for life is sacred; and be¬ 
cause thou hast broken this commandment while 


121 


under evil spell, we, the representatives of the 
State, are duty-bound to deliberately set aside this 
commandment and kill thee in cold blood in the 
name of the law, as an example of the sacredness 
of life.” Logic, is it not? 

LXVI. 

Man is possessed of two great powers—De¬ 
structive and Constructive, with the Good and the 
Evil in both. Whether he be a menace to the 
welfare of society, or a benefactor of mankind, 
depends on the amount of brain and heart-influ¬ 
ence back of these powers. 

LXVII. 

Crammed, crippled, and perverted human na¬ 
ture cries out in vehement protest against the 
violence which is ever being done to it—in the 
nursery, in the school-room, in the factory and 
shop, on the market of merciless competition or 
of strangling trust monopoly. True human nature 
has had but little chance as yet. 

LXVIII. 

“If you wish to study human nature, go live 
among animals,” some one said. That is good 
advice, for every quadruped has his double among 
the bipeds. There is the greedy hog, the hungry 


122 


wolf, the cunning fox, the innocent sheep, the 
ferocious tiger man-eater, the long-eared ass, the 
patient mule, the jackal, the hyena, the snake, and 
many other beasts of burden, or of prey, that bear 
close resemblance to their four-footed fellow- 
creatures. 


LXIX. 

If we only knew how little we know; if we 
could but feel how little we feel for a brother, how 
little we do for each other, how cold the spark of 
love in our hearts, when a neighbor’s wound pain¬ 
fully smarts, we would then see how little really 
we are. 


LXX. 

There is an impassible gulf between the rich 
and the poor; charity is the bridge thrown across 
that dividing space for the purpose of facilitating 
some sort of social unity between the two ex¬ 
tremes of society. As long as this bridge was 
made proper use of by both, rich and poor, in the 
interest of Humanity, both were benefited by a 
free and friendly intercourse. But with the 
growth of inequality, since fabulous wealth has 
been accumulating at one end of the bridge, and 
the desert of destitution spread in proportion at 
the other, relief stations on the impersonal plan 
of “scientific” charity have been established at 


123 


various midway points, so that the poor may not 
cross to the rich men's side. The result is an 
entire estrangement between the classes and the 
masses, and the evil growing therefrom is eating 
away the human ties of society, even as rust eats 
iron. 


LXXI. 

Man is a bundle of contradictions, a paradox 
not easily understood. He hurries and scurries, 
is all in a rush, pushing over his fellow men, his 
ego being his only consideration, first, last, and 
all the time; in his eagerness to satiate his greed, 
he strains every nerve of his, and sharpens his 
wits to outdo his neighbors. And when, at last, 
he finds himself in the midst of piled up wealth, 
with his every whim gratified, he only then finds 
out the vanity of it all; from egotist he turns 
altruist, and begins to give away that, the accu¬ 
mulation of which costs him years of struggle, 
days of planning and scheming, and sleepless 
nights. 


LXXII. 

Man is a bundle of contradictions, a paradox 
not easy to comprehend. He can love and hate; 
can sacrifice his own life, and take the life of a 
fellow-man; he can talk of human rights, and 
trample them under foot; is loud on the subject of 


124 


patriotism, while draining the life-blood of his 
country and nation. Oh, he can cut up many a 
caper! Can go forward and backwards on zig- 
zaggy lines, and be right and wrong at one and the 
same time. 


LXXIII. 

A strange being, a whimsical creature, a mud¬ 
dle of uncompromising contradictions—that is 
Man! Are there any proofs called for? Here 
are a few of the many : 

1. An abject slave to himself, a master of 
others. 

2. He will take care of his horse, and over¬ 
work himself. 

3. Prying into the secrets of Nature, he leaves 
his own dominion unexplored. 

4. Trying to master Nature's forces, he has 
estranged himself from Nature, and wound a 
chain of unnatural conditions around himself. 

5. Seeking to know the world—the markets 
of the world—he is a stranger to himself. 

6. While searching for new wisdom, he clings 
to old follies. 

7. He harbors hatred, and cherishes love in 
his breast, and is alternately demon and angel. 

8. Swayed by hatred or love, he commits acts 
of folly under the influence of either. 


125 


9. He will often befool his own reason, when 
following the heart; cheat his own heart, when 
allied with cold reason; and generally belie his 
own good nature. 

10. He is true to his friends sometimes, and 
false to himself most of the time. 

11. To obey the letter of the Law, he will vio¬ 
late it in spirit. 

12. He will go arm in arm with Conventional 
Lies, but turn away from simple Truth. 

LXXIV. 

Two fires are kept alive within man—the con¬ 
suming fire of physical passion is running in his 
veins, the sacred fire of spiritual zeal is burning 
in his soul. On the greater heat of each of these 
fires, man’s impulse depends. Sometimes he goes 
down to the very depth of hell, and enjoys the 
sensation immensely; sometimes, swayed by spir¬ 
itual fervor, he rises Heavenward. Blessed is he, 
who, by the aid of a well-balanced mind and 
strong will-power, can keep these fires under full 
control, tempering the heat of the former by the 
intensity of the latter. 

LXXV. 

There are two fires burning within man—the 
physical and the spiritual. What is fuel for one 


126 


will extinguish the other. Yet when properly- 
regulated by the damper of reason, both these 
fires are kept aglow simultaneously within nat¬ 
ural limits, side by side, and the result is a healthy 
soul in a healthy body, with the blessing of har¬ 
mony between the two. But let either of the 
fires break into conflagration, spreading beyond 
the natural limits uncontrolled, and the Man per¬ 
ishes—out of the ashes of cremated gross matter, 
or of the smoke of burned spirit, a monster is 
created instead. 

Nero and his courtiers, who prostituted Roman 
manhood in bacchanalian orgies, are examples of 
one. 

Torquamada and other inhuman fanatics of the 
Inquisition were specimens of the other. 

LXXVI. 

Fanaticism is moral inebriety. 

LXXVII. 

A fanatic is one swept off his base by the surge 
of religious or political emotion stronger than his 
reason can stand. 


LXXVIII. 

A person who does not know what he does not 
know, can never learn to know. 


127 


LXXIX. 


One man with truth on his side is right against 
a multitude on the side of falsehood, yet the 
majority rules, because the decision rests with the 
many. 


LXXX. 

Truth is a greater deceiver than outright lie, 
if you know how to manipulate it. 

LXXXI. 

Diplomats and shrewd politicians never say a 
lie; neither do they tell the truth; they simply 
lead the other fellow to deceive himself. 

LXXXII. 

Thomas Carlyle says: “A lie should be tram¬ 
pled on and extinguished wherever found.” How 
impractical the application of this method would 
be today! Where would we find so many lie- 
fighters? And what would become of our busi¬ 
ness and politics? 


LXXXIII. 

Some are dead while alive, 

Others in death the living survive. 


LXXXIV. 


The sweet, fragrant roses and the sharp thorns 
grow on one stem. Even so the flowers of joy 
and the thorns of sorrow are found on the stem 
of life. 


LXXXV. 

Intentional slight, wanton snubbing of a fellow- 
man, are acts of manslaughter in the first degree. 

LXXXVI. 

There are cat’s claws in the voice of some 
people, and they claw you to the very heart. 

LXXXVII. 

There are “radicals” who are radically wrong; 
there are unliberal “liberals” and backward “pro¬ 
gressives.” Their wholesale denunciation of the 
past, and indiscriminate fault-finding with all and 
everything in the present, is often a case of the 
“pot calling the kettle black.” 

LXXXVIII. 

A true radical must be a deep-thinking, broad¬ 
minded, great-hearted person, entirely free from 
prejudice either against the old or any new sys¬ 
tem of thought that may be at variance with his 


129 


views. He must be just, though critical, to the 
present, while working for a better future; unsel¬ 
fishly devoted to the teachings of higher ideals, 
along the lines of scientific truth, progress and 
social order, he must himself be free from 
egotism, petty jealousies and partisanship, either 
in relation to those in opposition, or in dealing 
with those on his own side; he must be capable of 
living up to the ideals he advocates, ever ready 
to sacrifice for the cause he stands for. Then, 
and then only, can he lay claim to the honor of 
being a true radical—that is one who labors 
assiduously for the eradication of old-rooted evils, 
and a radical change for a better and higher 
order. 


LXXXIX. 

It is an old economic rule that where money is 
cheap, goods are dear; and where money is dear, 
goods are cheap. Yet, it does not seem to hold 
good everywhere just at present—with ninety per 
cent, of the people both money and goods are so 
dear as to be beyond their reach. 

XC. 

The high cost of living is the cost of high living 
in some quarters, and the cause of low living in 
others. 


130 


XCI. 

Over-production is the cause of under-consump¬ 
tion. What a conundrum! Yet, it is true, because 
under-consumption is the cause of over-produc¬ 
tion. Each of these economic diseases of society 
is both the cause and the effect of the other. The 
cure is to be found in the Golden Rule, plus plain 
arithmetic. 

XCII. 

“In the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat thy 
bread” is meant as a blessing, provided it is only 
the sweat, but not the sweat and blood; and pro¬ 
vided further that you have all the bread you 
want, all the necessities of life during all your 
working years, and enough to secure for yourself 
a comfortable old age—in other words, if you get 
an equitable share in the products of your labor 
or the results of your service, without the sacri¬ 
fice of the dignity of your manhood, or woman¬ 
hood. But when this injunction is changed into 
the cruel version—in the sweat of thy brow and 
by the blood of thy heart thou shalt eat a dry 
crust soaked in the wormwood of humiliation, so 
that others may roll in excessive luxury, then it 
becomes a terrible curse, a desecration of the 
divine purpose, a crime against Humanity. 

XCIII. 

Out of misfortune large fortunes are built, and 


131 


the two are divided into two, unevenly, un- 
squarely; some get most of the first as their share 
of life’s hazards, others gather in all of the sec¬ 
ond as their due of Heaven’s blessings; the wails 
of the former, complaining of their hard lot, 
commingle with the merry voices of the latter, ex¬ 
pressing gratification with their good luck, all 
forming the discordant music of a world out of 
tune. 


XCIV. 

The “practical” man is happy, satisfied with 
things as they are. He prefers to keep to his easy 
chair, in his snug, cozy little corner, unmindful of 
conditions at his very door. His favorite motto 

is “Laissez-faire.” 

To the idealist the present is like a bed of 
thorns. Things as they are and as they have 
been are cutting into his altruistic heart like sharp 
knives, and because he can not sweep out of the 
way all the obstruction from the path of progress 
and replace the evil-breeding present with the 
hoped-for good of the rosy future at once, in his 
own day, he is the most unhappy creature in this 
troublesome, slow-moving world. 

xcv. 

The reason the idealist is an impractical 


132 


“dreamer” is because the “practical” man is too 
much of a schemer. 


XCVI. 

True progress can not be measured by the yard¬ 
stick, nor its results counted in dollars and cents. 

XCVII. 

There are old ways of looking at new things, 
and new ways of looking at old things. But 
neither is the old a cloak of sanctity, nor the new 
a badge of progress; truth and moral value must 
be the criterion by which the good or evil, the 
right or wrong in each case is to be determined. 

XCVIII. 

Swing the hammer, strike with force, 

Hit the nail on the head; 

Drive home the truth in accents strong, 

Let not falsehood get ahead. 

XCIX. 

A WARNING 
If you assume 
That to consume 
Is on earth your only mission; 

If to live to eat 
Is your plan complete— 

An Epicure’s whole tradition; 


133 


If of gastronomy you rave, 

Your stomach a slave, 

Over-worked and over-loaded— 
There's sure to be mutiny 
In your domain of gluttony, 

Ye gormands by appetite goaded. 

C. 

AN INQUIRY 

Has Charity lost her way? 

Did Love die of a broken heart? 

And Mercy, where's she to-day? 

And why doesn't Justice do her part? 

CI. 

Like a swiftly flowing stream, 
Time is gliding fast; 

Like an echo, like a dream 
Are memories of the past. 

CII. 

Noble deed 
Ignoble greed 
Must replace; 

Against falsehood 
Truth and Manhood 
Must win the race. 

134 


The jungle life 
Of fierce strife 

Must forever cease; 
Ill-feeling, hate, 

Must abate, 

Good fellowship increase. 


135 


Finis 







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